Brightly Burning
by Araceil
Summary: Twin-fic to Reighost's Dusk to Dawn. Reborn/Harry. Everything changes with a chance meeting in a bar. Sky!Harry.
1. Chapter 1

**You can blame my Wife for this. Just like I started Under Wing, she started this, and we then picked up each other's works and went sprinting into the sunset with them like panty thieves from anime. Check out her 'Dusk to Dawn' fic, it's a more tragic twin-fic to Burning Brightly where Harry is reborn as Tsuna.**

_I do not own KHR, or Harry Potter._

WARNING: Angst, slash (graphic in places, **no** sex scenes), mature themes, canon-derailment – a little.

_**000**_

**Chapter One**

_**000**_

The Titanic was not the _classiest_ of bars Reborn had ever found himself in. It was nice, it took its namesake and really brought it into the décor, but it wasn't his usual watering hole, for picking up evening company, or just for getting shitfaced. But it was nice all the same. Secreted away down a small side-alley, it was full of handsome wood-furnishings, playing classical music and the occasional smooth jazz number for flavour. The seats were black leather with brass coloured detailing. The floor was handsome hardwood. Leather booths lined the walls with a few round tables with comfortable wooden chairs clustered around them, themed oil-lamps and candles in brass holders set in the centre of each table along with the classic wooden salt and pepper grinders. There was even a small, currently unused, stage behind him and judging by the velvet drapes that framed it, there was a small backstage area for the musicians to store their things and wait before coming on for their performances. Just around the corner from the bar, towards the toilets, there was a pair of payphones with the numbers of various local taxi-companies sellotaped beside them.

Reborn didn't tend to find himself in such places, they were quiet, slow paced, but every now and again, he found himself craving a little peace and solitude in a place where he wouldn't be bothered and could enjoy a moment to just _be_. It didn't hurt that England was _very_ good for just such moments in his life. It was a place where if he kept himself to himself, he was exceptionally unlikely to be bothered unless by some idiot punk with balls bigger than brains. Even the ladies were unlikely to do much more than look admiringly – and he used the term lady only for those young women who were brought up with a concept of manners, he had encountered the _other_ kind before, and didn't wish to spend any length of time in their contemptible presence. There was a little thing called _class_. And he wasn't willing to give up on that simply to, ah, how did the British put it? '_Get his end away_'?

It didn't hurt that Shamal was in the area getting his Doctorate in Infectious Diseases, his Nursing Degree, and also working himself towards a degree in Entomology – though which branch Reborn didn't quite catch, he tuned out after the first twenty minutes of his young friend chattering about his insects. Mosquitoes. He _hated_ mosquitoes. The number of times he had nearly caught something nasty while on a job was incalculable due to those nasty little blood suckers.

He grumbled slightly, brooding over his glass of twenty-five year old Aged Scotch, Reborn was perhaps only peripherally aware of the _clearly_ underage kid stepping into the bar. Those were some lovely green eyes, he decided almost absently as he watched the kid in the mirror behind the bar, sipping at his drink and relishing the slow burn that crawled its way up from his stomach.

He looked around briefly before approaching the bar, "Excuse me, could I exchange this for a few coins to use the payphone?" he asked, his voice clearly carrying a British Accent with the faintest of Scottish brogues. It was a curiously pleasant tone. The bartender (twenty three, student, working for extra money, girlfriend – isn't working out, one cat, living locally under a private landlord, alcohol problem – had already started drinking despite being on the job) grudgingly exchanged the ten pound note for a handful of coins and silvers that the boy took to the phone.

With an outfit like that, expensive and brand-new from the look of it, Reborn was surprised he didn't have one of those new mobile phones. Even he had one, though he had it restricted solely to work related calls (number tracing was still too far in its infancy to be of a problem to him).

"_Don't pick up the phone, Piers! Please._"

Reborn paused, glass half raised to his lips as the kid's voice floated over to his ears. It was a quiet bar, and the music could only muffle so much. Listening in on the following conversation was not so much intentional, so much as unavoidable.

"_I... __I - able to say... what I need - someone there. - don't have a forwarding address - pass this message - I don't really have much longer left. - guys who killed Mum and Dad - caused a lot of damage, but - safe now - come home_." There was a pause while Reborn sipped his drink contemplatively. A lot of the conversation was lost simply because he was trying not to pay attention but a few words had caught his ears none the less. The kid was speaking quietly on the other side of the bar, around the corner and the music had shifted into quite a jaunty jazz number. Still. What he heard sounded interesting. He didn't know of any local Mafia Families in the area. England was considered neutral ground. Any Mafia family who thought to try and move in, or rise up, got taken out by the Ghost. Not killed. But robbed so completely stark blind, they didn't even have a penny to their name, and were often found in an empty room in nothing but their underwear – not even the bed they had been sleeping on left.

"_- sorry Dudley, - doesn't look - trying to be family. - I got hurt. Badly. - longer left. A day. Maybe two. - can FEEL it. - wanted to - goodbyes while I - thank you for trying in the end. - actually looking forward to trying - won't be possible. I set a little - money - my bank, - your children, or grandchildren, - school. Hopefully - better for them - finished rebuilding it. - never gotten along. - mutual loathing would - under your roof. - managed to give me ten years - toughening me up. - might not have lasted - wish things - us, properly. - call you family, but - things are out of reach now. - Mum's Will, - jewellery so, - worry, she's just - like mum, - parents went missing - that's it for me. - of Piers' answer machine memory. Thank - goodbye Piers. - you've been up to, or what - manage it. - good man. - little shit I grew - forget, Good - You have a killer - Use it - spend all those years - practice -... Goodbye_."

Completely incomprehensible. He didn't hear enough to make much sense of it beyond a bunch of bad things had apparently happened. Oh well. It wasn't his business he decided as he sipped his drink, lazily rolling the amber liquid around the tumbler – glass, not crystal, this wasn't that highclass of an establishment.

His arm tensed a little when the kid slid onto the barstool beside him, propping his elbows up even as he took those _awful_ glasses off to rub at his face. It didn't take a hitman to see how pale he was, or how his hand trembled ever so slightly. The kid didn't look very well. He didn't even seem to realise he had broken one of the British cardinal rules – sitting beside a stranger in an empty establishment, be it train, bus, or bar. And when he put his glasses on and did realise, he didn't even attempt to move. Merely offered him an apologetic smile that looked so heavy with fatigue that the slight paranoid simmer of Flame dissipated in his veins. The kid was no threat to a paper bag, never mind him.

"What can I get you?" the bartender asked, his voice disinterested, he wasn't even looking too closely at the kid – that or he just didn't care about serving underage patrons.

The kid looked startled, as if he hadn't expected to be addressed. Reborn hid a smirk as he sipped his drink, gently swishing the scotch in his mouth, tasting it fully before swallowing.

"Um... I'll have... what he's having," the teenager said, pointing to him. Clearly without even the faintest idea of just _what_ he was drinking. Oh this was going to be hilarious, he decided, greenhorns with strong alcohol was always worth a watch. And he didn't think this kid was much of a drinker.

He toasted the kid, tapping his glass against the one the bartender set in front of the boy, "Aged scotch. Not a bad choice," he said, biting back his humour as he watched the boy take the glass and blink up at him with tired green eyes.

"...Thanks?" he asked and then swallowed a solid mouthful with the Hitman watching mirthfully, his drink set carefully to one side so he wouldn't knock it in his amusement.

Green eyes widened, practically dominating his face as he slammed the glass down and very nearly broke it, coughing and spluttering as he reached for the napkins the bartender had left for him. Reborn cackled outright as the boy fixed him with an accusing watery stare, mopping his face.

"You... are a... b-bas... tard," he coughed out painfully.

Oh to be young and stupid again.

"Puppy," he retorted, casually appropriating the unappreciated glass from the kid and taking a very pointed sip in front of that accusing green glare. "Drinks like this are meant to be savoured, not knocked back like water." It was the mark of an uncultured man to do so. How were you to _taste_ it if you were choking it back so completely it missed your tongue entirely. He smirked as the bartender presented the kid with a no doubt much appreciated glass of water as he began to get control of his coughing. It probably wouldn't have been so bad if the boy hadn't attempted to breathe in halfway through swallowing his drink and thus _actually_ choking on it.

"S-savour away," the Pup wheezed, glowering and gesturing at him to keep it when he oh so thoughtfully tried to return it. "I'll try something with a little less... punch."

Mmm, perhaps not as puppyish as he first thought.

"Suit yourself," he declared magnanimously as he pulled the glass back.

"God that was awful," the boy complained as he wiped away the last traces of scotch from his face and clothes, "Why would you even drink something like that?" he demanded in disgust.

Oh to be young, naïve, and uncaring over what swill you were willing to choke down.

"Because I'm not a cultureless brat?" he retorted sarcastically, "Try picking from the children's menu, their drinks aren't likely to kill you," he suggested sardonically, the smirk on his lips widening as a small glint of challenge appeared in those tired green eyes. The boy reached over and plucked his drink from his hands and took a smaller, decidedly more cautious sip, only wincing slightly. Well, the Puppy could be taught.

"A drink isn't going to kill me when I'm already dying," the boy coughed as he looked up at him, green eyes meeting black dead on without flinching, quite a feat given how he was the first one in a great many years to be able to do so. "Might as well try it while I still can."

He couldn't help but study the boy, his body language, the ever so fine tremor that racked his thin body as he turned away and took another cautious sip. Seventeen, he would hazard a guess, poor upbringing, potentially abusive, been under a great deal of stress, sleepless nights, starvation, skin and hair showed signs of consistent and long term malnutrition, scars on the back of his hand (self-harm? Too neat and well cut, curious, looked like handwriting, can't achieve handwriting scars with any manner of blade, not possible), constant shivering and fatigue – there was no lie in his body language, and everything he was seeing only added credence to the boy's words. He really was sat next to a Dead Man Walking.

"...Dying?" he confirmed softly.

The boy stared into his drink without looking up, "I'm... sick. Terminal and I don't have very long left," he admitted slowly and, though he didn't have the faintest of ideas _why_, the tense line of the boy's shoulders _actually_ relaxed at this admission. He even smiled, almost relieved, as he took another sip of his drink. Mio Dio, he was so young and he was accepting the idea of his death with more grace than any Mafioso thrice his age that he had been forced to deal with.

"...And have you kissed anyone yet?" he asked because, this kid was _young_ and he was _dying_. He had to have at least experienced a little of life's enjoyments before he left the mortal coil, it would feel... wrong if he hadn't!

The boy choked on his drink, inhaling it.

He had to laugh as the boy went into another coughing fit, not his intended reaction, but it opened the avenue of a more interesting topic of conversation as the boy gagged and spluttered.

"I would have asked if you were still a virgin but the answer to that question is painfully clear," he continued, smirking as the boy slumped over the bar wheezing and coughing, fixing him with a watery glower. The kid sat up and tried to cobble together what remained of his dignity as he once again took some napkins and tried to mop himself up as nonchalantly as possible.

"Yeah," he agreed with as much blasé lightness as he could, "They weren't that good though. But I'll chalk that up to the first using me for rebound on her dead boyfriend, and the other as my best mate's kid sister."

The _sister_? He'd had more than enough experience with sisters, especially of the younger variety, to know that going for your best friend's younger sister often took more balls than brains – typically because the male in question was too busy _thinking_ with said balls instead of his brains.

"Oh? A little sister? How brave of you," he drawled, tone indicating that he thought it was anything but and his childish attempts to brag were both adorable and embarrassingly hilarious. But the challenge remained in those pretty green eyes as he glanced at him almost casually with the drink raised to his lips.

"...She also had six brothers."

Seven children. Their poor mother. Six of them boys. Their _poor_, poor mother.

He snorted, well, six brothers in the wings, and a little sister on the go, "And no plans to spend your last night with that young lady in question?" he asked. He would have. He'd have taken her in _every_ sense of the word, in every position, in every style, since he didn't have to worry about the six elder brothers planning to lynch him in the following morning.

The boy pulled a face, "Not really. I don't think I could do that to her," he admitted. Oh. So it had been a little more serious than just teenage-lust, he had actually cared about her in a girlfriend-sense. Well, he could respect that. However depressing it was.

"So you'll die a virgin, how sad."

The boy cut a dry look his way, "...Smooth. Remind the dying kid what he's going to be missing out. Great stuff. I can see you're all sunshine and gumdrops. Must be real popular with the ladies," he retorted dryly and it took some considerable effort on Reborn's part not to laugh in the boy's face. He had forgotten how delightful dry British sarcasm could be.

Instead, he leaned forward, right into the boy's personal space, knocking his hat off as he did so, "I could help you with that," he purred salaciously, he would consider it his civic duty, nay, his _gentlemanly_ duty to deflower the lad before he saw the end of his life. It would be no hardship to be honest, to see those eyes darken with lust. Hell, he would have probably tried to take him home regardless of his health problems and age if they'd met before now.

The boy caught his hat before it fell too far and casually shoved it into his face, carefully pushing him back into his seat. "Nah. You're alright mate. I'll have to pass on that," he declared, again with that dry humour the hitman was coming to enjoy as his hand shifted and pushed his hat onto the Italian's head as his face practically glowed traffic light red. "However would you deal with my corpse in the morning?" he asked sarcastically as Reborn idly flipped said hat from his head and eyed it, it was a nice hat, very nice, Italian as well with a very pleasant Sky-Orange silk band. He set it back onto his head, making sure to tilt it at a rakish angle for maximum seduction benefits.

He tried not to scoff, what a question, "I'm sure I could manage, I am the world's greatest hitman after all," he declared (bragged), while lazily buffing his nails on his shirt with a playful smirk.

The boy froze, mid-sip, and had to choke down his mouthful as he stared at him with large green eyes.

What...?

"You... aren't joking," he stated, too shocked to be horrified.

Reborn felt his eyebrow jump upward as he leaned back in his seat, well now... "Interesting. The first person not in the Mafia to _actually_ believe me," he mused, studying the boy up and down. The question now begged, was this boy just gullible, or did he have some kind of sense for when people were right or wrong? Abuse victims often had higher than average perception, and a higher chance of activating whatever manner of Dying Will Flame they possessed. If he were a betting man, he would have laid money on the fact this kid likely _had_ a Flame, but probably had not learned to activate it – otherwise he would not be _living_ in England. Flame Users just did not live in this country. They were always recruited and moved out. All but the Ghost.

The boy's eyes went wider still at the mention of the Mafia before he sighed through his nose and coughed slightly, relaxing once again in his stool. "Couldn't you have waited till _after_ I'd finished swallowing to drop that on me?" he whined plaintively as he rubbed his sore throat.

Oh, he had just _handed_ that one over.

"So you swallow. Even more interesting," he quipped with a smirk, eyebrows waggling suggestively.

The boy fixed him with the most unimpressed stare he could muster, even as the red rose up his neck to his cheeks and set the tips of his ears burning. "You're going there? Really?" he asked flatly. Reborn grinned in satisfaction, eyeing the red that crawled across the boy's face. A blush looked _very_ fetching on his face, the Italian decided as he idly wondered how to prompt that reaction again.

"I'm not used to being turned down, humour me," he beseeched playfully.

The boy snorted, "Well if it's any consolation, I just don't do one night stands. And since I've only _got_ one night – you're getting nothing," he stated blandly as their eyes met once more, a silence stretching between the two of them. Only the one night? He seemed so absolutely _certain_ that he only had a night. Surely if it were that bad he would be tucked up in a hospital. What of his friends and family? Perhaps there were none. Which meant that he was here, trying to enjoy his last night, or what he was melodramatically _calling_ his last night. How like an assassin, he decided breaking out into a laugh right alongside the kid in question.

"Oh my god," the boy giggled, "If any of my friends saw me right now _they'd_ die. I'm in a bar, drinking, and getting hit on by a professional killer," he lamented through his wheezing guffaws.

He sniffed in offended mirth. He was _hardly_ so pedestrian. "Not just a professional killer," he corrected, smirking down at the kid, "I'm the World's _Greatest_ Hitman," he reiterated, in case he missed it the first time.

The boy facepalmed, the slap of skin on skin echoing satisfyingly in the quiet bar as Reborn sipped his drink proudly.

"There's a cop sitting just across the room," he pointed out as if he couldn't believe this situation was even happening and how could Reborn have missed her. Reborn set his drink down and rolled his head in the direction the boy had indicated as if he hadn't even _noticed_ the young woman in her fluorescent officer's uniform, walkie-talkie on her shoulder, her bottle blonde hair pulled back with a _pink_ hair scrunchy and a multitude of bobby-pins, empty lunch plate in front of her, glass of lemonade, fashion magazine in (a pink nailed) hand and using it to very ineffectually hide her thoroughly appreciatively eyeballing of the dark haired hitman. Hardly the most professional of behaviour but being on Lunch break it didn't much matter. Reborn eyed her disbelievingly before turning to the boy, if she was in any way a legitimate police officer, he was a member of the Bovino Famiglia.

The boy's expression darkened a little at the condescension in his expression.

He sniffed and returned to his drink, "Someone as high-class as myself will never have to worry over such small things," he declared loftily to set the boy's concerns to rest. Even if such a... unique example of the police force _were_ to realise whom they were dealing with, twenty minutes of conversation and he would have her against the nearest bathroom stall, balls deep between her legs and leave without ever having to be concerned about any kind of arrest in his future. As it was, he didn't wish to deal with her right now. This young man was much more interesting.

Humour and disbelief gleamed in tired green eyes, "And if I went over there and told her that you told me you were a hitman?" he asked, visibly biting his lip to stop himself from laughing. Reborn smirked, tracking the movement briefly before rearranging his face into an expression of utmost innocence.

"Well I was just trying to score myself a hot date, wasn't I?" he asked lightly, "I had no _idea_ you'd actually _believe_ my little joke!"

The boy snorted helplessly, "Unbelievable. So, what if I added that I was underage? You could get arrested for trying to 'get lucky' with a minor."

He smirked victoriously, the boy had more sense than that, "You wouldn't be that stupid, would you? Why would you be admitting to underage drinking! To a police officer! You'd spend the last night you have on earth stuck in a jail cell, what a tragic end!"

That got a burst of shocked laughter out of the boy. "I think I might be starting to see how you earned your title..." he mused once his hilarity died down.

He couldn't help but preen in satisfaction at that, it wasn't often someone genuinely offered him admiration without the constant undertone of fear and slimy grubbing up for favours. The kid just accepted him as he was and expected nothing, absolutely nothing. It was actually quite refreshing for a change. Maybe he should make some serious efforts to this seduction, he wondered as he sketched out a theatric bow to the boy, prompting further chuckling out of him as he doffed the stolen fedora to him.

"It's always good to hear appreciation, especially from such a lovely audience."

"You never stop do you?" the boy asked with a snort of amusement.

Time to test the waters, so to speak.

"It's in my nature," he said with as much fake apology as he could, "I'm very... _Active,_" he purred, leaning forward again.

The boy didn't react, only smirking as he leaned away , "There's an innuendo in there I'm too polite to point out," he retorted with a grin as he reached out to shove him away.

Reborn chuckled, "Don't hold back on my account," he said before he realised those eyes had slid out of focus, the kid swayed, panting briefly before his eyes rolled back and his whole body tilted falling to the side.

Fuck!

Alarm shot through him as he quickly caught the boy with one arm, around his back and to his waist. He was _cold_ and almost _bird boned_ in his arm. Just how tiny was this kid under those clothes? He shifted the boy back onto his seat, just in time for him to come to, a shuddering breath brushing against the side of Reborn's neck before he drew away slightly.

He swallowed against the hard lump of realisation in his throat, "I knew you weren't lying but I didn't think you were being so completely honest about your estimated end of the line," he remarked steadily as he got to his feet, the boy swaying in his stool slightly, leaning against him, pupils visibly trying to come into focus.

"Did you think I was joking about leaving you with a corpse to deal with in the morning when you offered to 'help' me earlier?" the boy asked, his voice faint and shaking slightly as he gasped for air. Reborn saw the police officer sitting up to attention in the far corner, her eyes sharp as she looked between them. He waved her off as he shifted his grip on the boy's waist.

"I'm taking you to a doctor," he declared as he easily lifted the boy from his seat. He was lighter than Reborn feared. And clearly a lot weaker than he should have been judging by the energy-less attempts to push him off and wriggle free as Reborn pulled him flush to his side and guided him outside, the police officer even jumping to her feet to open the door for him – having heard him say he would take him to the hospital.

"I told you, there's nothing they can do. They had me on bed rest before I checked myself out this morning." Stubborn, shouldn't have left without authorisation! "I want to actually _DO_ something on my last night on earth. Not sit in a bed and listen to my bestfriends tell me everything will be okay, that I'll be fine and soon we'll be able to move on with our lives and all that sort of bollo-" Reborn winced in concern as the boy went limp against him, unconscious, he easily swung the boy's legs up and over his other arm, carrying his tiny (worryingly cold) form to his car parked just around the corner.

He got the kid sat in his passenger seat, buckling him in carefully and checking both his pulse and his temperature, pulse was weak, fluttery, slightly erratic, and he was cold, too cold. Reborn pressed his lips together as he closed and locked the passenger side door and climbed into the driver's side. Shamal was doing his degrees at a local General hospital near-by, he dug his mobile phone out as he buckled himself in and keyed the ignition.

It took a few minutes to get through the hospital switchboard before Shamal came onto the line.

"_Reborn, what's wrong, you never call during work hours,_" he heard his young friend ask as he came on, no greeting, no pleasantries, he knew something was up.

"I need you to prepare for a patient. I need this kept quiet though. Young, late teens, severe malnutrition, claims to be terminal, he just blacked out on me twice mid-conversation, cold to the touch, unsteady, weak heartbeat. I would place money on him being Flame Active but unaware," he listed flatly as he lazily swerved in and out of the London traffic, cutting through a number of smaller back-allies he technically shouldn't have as they were no access and one way streets.

There was a breath of silence on the end of the line. Reborn knew Shamal, he would likely be wondering _why_ he cared enough to help this youngster, but thankfully he knew better than to ask. There was also the added fact that Reborn didn't _know_. It just... felt like something he had to do. He wasn't a kind man by any stretch of the imagination, but he wasn't a heartless one either. Even a dying kid could tug on what little heartstrings he had left, especially one as seemingly bright and playful as this one.

"_I'll get it sorted. What's your ETA?_" he asked.

"Ten minutes."

"_I'll have a chair and a room available by then," he declared, "Pull into the C-block carpark and head towards the Fanshawe Wing doors, Minor Injuries unit. They're the only place that have available private rooms right now,_" he explained before hanging up.

Reborn stowed his phone again and continued for another minute through traffic – running three red lights and almost hitting six pedestrians before he heard the slow inhale of his passenger as tired green eyes slitted open and glared weakly at him, his eyes out of focus without those horrible glasses (they had accidentally been left behind at the bar).

"Should I start trying to climb out the window screaming about abduction?" he asked slowly, words slurring ever so slightly as he shifted.

Reborn shot him a glare, he shouldn't be moving, _or_ questioning him. "I doubt you could muster the strength," he sneered (_So lie back down and get some rest you stubborn brat_), "Sit down, shut up, and accept my help. I don't usually offer it beyond a bullet." He flicked his attention back to the road as they came to a round-about.

The boy wheezed, "Sounds lovely. Give me one of those, beats being dragged into a ruddy hospital again," he ground out roughly, gasping for breath. Reborn pressed his lips together tightly at the sound of the kid fighting to drag in every lungful of air and pressed down harder on the accelerator. The kid was out again, still struggling for every breath as Reborn pulled into the Hospital carpark and served to the entrance of the Fanshawe Wing, parking haphazardly in the delivery bay and jumping out. He gave a quick burst of Sun Flame that he knew Shamal would sense as he rounded the bonnet and unlocked the door.

Barely a moment later he saw his young friend rushing out of the doors with the wheelchair as Reborn unbuckled his young passenger and lifted him up carefully.

"Okay. Name, age, any information you can give me, Reborn," Shamal demanded as they set the boy down in the chair, his head rolling to one side as his eyes slid shut once more, blinking slowly before he passed out again. They rushed him into the building, Reborn not even bothering to close the car-door or lock it behind him as they shouldered open the doors and into one of the lifts.

"No name. Seventeen I believe, definitely a minor. Been shaking since I met him, extreme fatigue, cold to the touch, irregular and weakened heartbeat, has signs of scarring and extensive long term malnutrition. Likely as not an abusive upbringing. Claims he'll die within the night," Reborn explained as shortly as he could as the lift finally expelled them onto the floor they wanted, Shamal wheeling the kid out and down a further two corridors to a small wing set aside from all the others where the door was unlocked and pushed open.

Together they quickly got him lifted onto the bed as the brunet began to examine the boy carefully, his face going ashen white.

"Reborn... You said Flame Active, right?" he asked as his hands began to speed up in his checking.

"Yes. But he isn't aware of them I don't think. None of my verbal prompts gained so much as a flicker of recognition," he explained watching as the doctor turned to him.

"He's a Sky."

Reborn stared at him incomprehensibly for a moment. A Sky. Who was a Sky? The kid? The kid was a Sky?

He turned back to the boy, Shamal's hands steaming with indigo flame as he ran it across the boy's chest, frowning.

"A strong one. A _really_ strong one. I've never felt Sky Purity this high-before. But the injuries... This shouldn't be possible. He's _actually_ haemorrhaging Sky Flames, losing them too quickly for his body to replace. But not active, or we'd be able to see it from half a city block away" He was right, that shouldn't be possible, at all. Nothing had _ever_ been recorded to drain someone of their flame so strongly that their bodies couldn't reproduce it. Once you hit empty, you hit empty and that was it, no more flame, back to average joe human. The fact that even his _life force_ was bleeding out with his flame was... it had never been recorded before. Now that Reborn knew it, he could _feel_ the kid's flame filling the air, as if he were stood in a warm bath or in the summer sun.

"Where did you _find_ him, Reborn?" Shamal demanded, distressed as his flame flickered out. "By all rights he'd be on every radar in the underworld, but he's a complete unknown." With a Sky Flame that powerful, he'd have Famiglias from France to China to Australia, America, and Pakistan, trying to recruit him. Never mind what he'd managed to feel out just then. Reborn just fixed him with a stony glare, Shamal shook his head and returned his attention to the kid. "His organs are in the middle of failing due to massive flame-depletion, he has full-on heart arrhythmia – he's physically having a heart attack because he doesn't have enough energy to keep his heartbeat to a steady rhythm. Even his _brain_ is shutting down! Goddamn. I... I couldn't do anything even if I wanted to! He would need an _ocean_ of Sky Flames just to keep him out of ICU long enough for a ridiculously powerful Sun Flame to heal the damage. And I'm talking _RIDICULOUSLY_ strong. Stronger than you!" he added, looking at Reborn in horror. The Unattached Sun was a Flame _beast_. No Sky had ever been strong enough to Harmonize with him, not even the Vongola Heirs – and they had tried. Even the Lady Octavia had attempted in her younger years to seduce the Unattached Sun, and when she failed, she sent her son to attempt it too, only to fail as well. Not even the Cavallone Famiglia had managed it, not to speak of the other famiglias who had attempted Harmony as well. Reborn was _The_ strongest Sun. And not even his Flame would be enough to patch the haemorrhage to this little Sky's soul if they didn't know _what_ was causing the drain. But they weren't going to be able to _find_ the drain because he was running out of flame too fast for them to even look. Just trying to introduce a different Flame type to his system could put him into massive shock and just completely cut his entire system off. Instant death from Flame Shock.

Reborn must have read some of his thoughts because there was something very dark and frightening in his facial expression, "How long does he have?"

Shamal shook his head, "Not even an hour. The kid is burnt out, running on fumes. By all rights," he said looking down at the tiny form on the bed, "he should have died long before you brought him in with the level of flame energy he has. I've seen squirrels with stronger wills to live than him right now." And how strong did his Will to Live have to be to _still_ fight on, to _still_ have his heart beating with so little energy? He must have really been something at full strength. "I honestly don't know what to say, Reborn, I've never seen anything like it. It shouldn't even be _possible_ to haemorrhage your Flame like that."

"I shouldn't..." the two jumped almost out of their skin at the rough whisper from the bed, green eyes half-lidded and staring at them, "have lived this long in the first place," he muttered head rolling on the pillow a little. "People aren't supposed to survive what I did, I'm on borrowed time anyway, always have been," he rasped quietly in the room, unaware of just how his words were affecting the two Mafioso in front of him, "It's not a big deal," he said softly, "You can stop freaking out... I'm just going to the Next Adventure is all..."

Reborn felt something in him break at that as he turned to the boy, a hand snapping out to latch onto his shoulder. Like hell this kid was just going to trot off to his death without a fight! What kind of attitude was that?

"There is no Next Adventure. Just Death," he snapped, glaring down at those tired (disgustingly accepting) green eyes, "Are you really so weak willed that you're just going to give up?" he snarled quietly, but no less forcefully as his hand tightened almost painfully on the boy's bony shoulder.

The boy huffed a breath, trying to push Reborn's hand away, his fingers icy cold against the heat of his inner wrist, "And you would know what happens when people die, wouldn't you?" he asked rhetorically, "As for giving up, this isn't me giving up. This is me accepting that what will be, will be and I will meet whatever comes afterwards with my head held high," he rasped, ignorant to the fine tremor that threatened to give away Reborn's helpless anger and confusion over his... not resignation, but _acceptance_ of death. "I'm not going to be dragged down kicking and screaming like some ungrateful coward. Death is just another part of life after all, and I will greet him with a smile," the boy explained, his smirk twisting bitterly on his face, as if at some private joke only he knew the punchline to.

It was almost graceful, that acceptance. Reborn had certainly never seen such simple acceptance of death before in his life. It was almost like looking at an old man who was looking forward to resting his aged bones for the last time.

It was _wrong_ to see it on a face so young. To see it on _that_ face in specific.

Oh.

_Oh_.

It felt like he'd just been shot in the gut. How could he have _missed_ -

He'd Harmonized with the kid.

He'd Harmonized himself to a _Dying_ Sky.

And he hadn't even realised it. At all. Until now. Until _now_ when he realised just how important this kid suddenly was to him. This kid whose _name_ he didn't even know! Just when had it happened? Usually it took months, if not _years_ for a Harmony to be achieved and here he was, barely two hours after the boy walked into the same bar as him with a full Harmonization singing in the back of his head! He should have known immediately. It was a feeling so unlike anything else now that he was _aware_ of it. Like... coming home. As if his whole world was suddenly grounded and opened, almost as if there was suddenly a centre to his universe and everything that he was, could be, had been, was being welcomed by it, embraced and pulled close without judgement or fear or expectation.

This was Harmony.

This was what a Sky was.

And he had _finally_ found one powerful enough to draw him in. One who didn't care about his title as the Greatest Hitman, didn't care about the lives he had stolen, or the power he had hidden away, or the prestige that his presence would bring. One who didn't even know about Flames, or care.

A Sky who would laugh and shove a hat in his face while blushing to the tips of his ears over a little harmless flirting, and choke on scotch he didn't like the taste of just to scrape what little teenage dignity he had left.

A Sky who was _not_ going to die if he had anything to say about it!

Sun Flame scorched through his body, held back only by iron determination as he carefully fed it through the palm of his hand into the kid, unwilling to send him into Flame Shock by overburning his system. Having a Harmony with him meant that he could flood his system with less risk, but it didn't mean there was _no_ risk. And he was taking absolutely _no_ chances.

Cold fingers slid away from his wrist, "...Didn't the doctor just finish saying that you wouldn't be able to help me?" he asked gently, as if Reborn needed comforting instead of himself as he stubbornly pushed his hand away. "How crazy do you have to be to go so far for a complete stranger?"

Not a stranger. Not for much longer.

"You know what I was - "

He smiled tiredly at him, "You're warm. Like I used to be. Didn't take much to figure out," he admitted before shifting, shaking hand going to his lapel pocket, "If you want to help... there is one thing you can do for me," he managed to get out as his fingers fumbled. Too shaky and weak to get a grasp of what he wanted.

"Here, let me," Shamal murmured, gently easing the boy's hand away from the pocket and slipping his fingers in. Reborn watched him like a hawk, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck bristling defensively until he suddenly yelped and yanked his hand back, making a large ugly ring tumble across the bedsheets.

"Feels horrible, doesn't it?" the kid asked lowly as his shaking hand caught it before it got away, fingers curling around the tarnished gold.

"What is that thing?" Shamal sneered, rubbing his hand against his scrubs as if it were covered with something dirty and revolting.

"My curse." Reborn tensed, hard enough to make his limbs ache as the boy tugged a silk handkerchief free from the breast pocket of his jacket, "Toss it into the next volcano you happen to pass?" he asked mirthfully as he tied the awful ring into it. From what little glimpses he got, British design, medieval, heavy gold, little adorning, and a black stone he didn't get a good look at. "Chop up the ring, grind the stone down to dust, drop it in molten lead or whatever. Just destroy it. I would have done it myself but... well, here I am. In a hospital. Again," he sighed huffily as he shifted and tried to push himself upright, off the bed.

But his strength failed him as he held the wrapped ring up. Reborn caught his hand, gently lifting the handkerchief away and moving closer, letting the young Sky land against his shoulder, face half-buried in his neck. His hands were colder than before and Reborn could feel something inside of himself breaking out of sheer terror. He was dying. Right _now_.

"It's... the last... thing I meant to do..." the kid whispered, wheezing softly. "The number... of people... who died over this thing... I meant... to be the last and let... the Peverell Fate... die with me. Don't let anyone... else... get their hands... on it. Destroy it... as soon as you can," he gasped, breath cold and dry against his ear. Not good, not good, _not good!_

His insides twisted, _hard_, and he poured Flame into the kid.

"No! Reborn!" Shamal yelled in shock, of course the kid would realise what he was doing. "What are you doing? Do you know the consequences of Harmonizing with a dying Sky? That's going to _shatter_ you! You're ruining yourself, Reborn! Stop before you go too far!" he panicked, reaching out to try and drag him away – drag him away from _his_ Sky!

He lashed out, polished italian leather dress shoe hitting the teenager in the stomach hard enough to send him roughly into the wall with a pained grunt for his stupidity.

"It's a little too late for that," he snarled, fighting the urge to pull the kid physically into his lap so he could get more surface area to feed flame into. He ignored the sharp breath the Bratling Hitman sucked in as his Sky laughed weakly against his ear.

"So stubborn," he breathed, shaking hand hooking into his breast pocket as he learned his full weight against him. "Thank you... for trying but..." _NO__ BUTS!_ "my time... is finished. You need... to let me go." _Not happening!_ "Sorry, I guess I'm going... to be leaving... you to deal with that... corpse after all. You... didn't even manage to get... anything out of me..."

He got to know what it was like, just for a moment, to be accepted wholesale and completely.

He got to experience a Harmony.

He got to spend an hour chatting and laughing with the most important person in his life.

He got to meet His Sky.

"...I got your hat. I'm keeping it," he managed, his voice rough.

The boy laughed softly, "Looks better on you... than it ever did... on me." _Not true. Not true at all._

His eyes squeezed shut involuntarily, "...Any last requests beyond destroying the ring?" he ground out, a bitter twist to his lips that could have been mistaken for a smile crossing his face, "That kiss offer is still on the table."

He laughed again, "Open... the window? I just... wanted to... see the sky... one last time."

He twitched, glaring at the near-by window, he couldn't reach it without letting his Sky go, and he was not willing to do that, not right now, not when he was... he was on his last breaths. He drew the boy closer, feeling the chill of his skin and fed more Flame into him, face twisting in angry distress as Shamal shifted warily around them. He dug into his jacket pocket withdrew a channelling ring for his Mist Flame, Reborn ignored him, desperately trying to imprint as much as he could about his Sky into his memory. The curve of his nose. The scar above his right eyebrow, a lightning bolt shaped cut, still angry and red looking, almost glittering at the centre.

Indigo flame washed through the room, blurring away the hospital and replacing it with an endless expanse of wide open sky, a sky set aflame with golden orange light, a phantom breeze kissing their skin and tugging at clothes and hair. A sunset.

Reborn swallowed hard as green eyes glowed orange in the false sunlight, he tightened his grip on the boy, pushing more flame into him, just a little more, maybe – maybe whatever was wrong – just a little more – just a little more might put it to rights...

"...Warm..." the young Sky whispered, his breath slowing as he leaned into him. Hand slipping from where it was hooked in his pocket.

Reborn felt his heart wedge itself in his throat, no, _no, No, __NO!_

He _slammed_ his flame into the kid. Everything he had.

It hit him like a train.

Green eyes flew open as his mouth opened in a silent scream, voice trapped in his throat as his whole body went rigid against the Hitman who roughly dragged him into his lap.

Shamal suddenly jumped forward, "More flame! MORE FLAME! HIS FOREHEAD! THAT SCAR! HEAL THE SCAR!" he was suddenly shouting as his hands went for the little Sky's shirt collar, wrestling with the buttons as Reborn looked down at the pale, pained face of his Sky and saw the flickers of indigo, shimmering yellow, and fading orange dribbling from the narrow lightning bolt shaped cut.

He clamped a hand over the wound, feeling the combination of flames tickling his palm before he _burned_ it with Sun Flame.

His Sky began to thrash. Or as close to thrash as his exhausted body could manage as Reborn sent his cells into overdrive, pushed them to split and split again and again and again, dragging the ragged edges of the wound shut, knitting the cells together from the inside out. It was an ugly patch job. But it worked.

"His chest now," Shamal ordered, revealing a second lightning bolt shaped scar, this time on his chest, over his heart. Reborn felt a chill through his body as he saw the sheer amount of Flame pouring out of the angry red scar.

He pressed his hand over the wound, burning his Sun Flame against the edges of it but – _fuck_! The bleed was too strong, the cells he forced to split and tried to knit together were just split and burnt apart by the haemorrhaging Flame from within the kid, and he was running out _fast_.

He didn't hear the door open, nor the rapid footsteps towards him, so focused as he was on trying to keep his Sky alive.

He did notice when a pair of small, dainty warm hands covered his own and _Sky Flame_ exploded off them, syphoning into the kid.

"I'm not too late, am I?" she asked, staring up at him with sapphire blue eyes and an expression of mixed anxiousness and hope. She had a young face, dark hair, and a small golden flower tattooed beneath her left sapphire eye. A loose white maternity dress dropping down to her knees from the small bump of her abdomen.

A Sky.

A pregnant Sky.

A... A Giglio Nero.

_The_ Giglio Nero Sky.

"...No," he said before turning his attention back to his Sky, not willing to look a Gift Horse, a _miracle_, in the mouth at this juncture.

Skies were curious beings when it came to other Skies.

They either tried to help them, or kill them.

As long as this woman was helping, that was good enough for him.

She fed her flames into his Sky, replenishing him and consolidating her power almost like a _plug_ beneath the wound as Reborn returned to patching it as tightly as he could. He didn't know how long he stood there, hands pressed against the feverishly hot skin of the teenager's chest, sweat rolling down his temples as he knitted his flesh back together as quickly as possible. Another ugly patch job. Not once did the Giglio Nero's Sky Flame falter. Steady, warm, constant. She held back his own Sky's bleeding flame and kept him warm, cycling her power through his body with what little of his Flame remained. A soft flame.

Until finally, Reborn pulled his hands away, breath leaving him in a loud woosh.

"It won't hold for long," he declared, watching as the young woman gently pressed a little more flame into the teenager's unconscious body and withdrew her hands, rubbing them together for warmth before they found a place upon her bump. "But it'll do for now. Until I can get him into Italy," he explained as he observed the woman. She smiled in relief.

"That's good. Oh, I'm so glad I wasn't too late," she breathed, bowing her head to him, "I'm Luce, of the Giglio Nero."

He knew that.

"Reborn. Sun Guardian." Sun Guardian. He liked the sound of that. A great deal more than Greatest Hitman to be honest.

"Tridant Shamal, unaligned. Fuck I need a drink," the eighteen year old cursed as he staggered to one of the cupboards. Luce giggled a little in bewildered amusement as he dragged out a bottle of rubbing alcohol and squinted at it, "Good enough for now," he muttered before cracking it open.

Reborn grimaced before settling back against the pillows of the bed, Sky pulled firmly against his chest, sleeping peacefully. Carefully, so as not to jar him, or wake him, the dark haired man pulled the hospital blankets up and around him, rebuttoning his shirt and jacket for extra warmth before pulling the blankets up beneath his chin. He was no longer cold to the touch, but he still wasn't warm enough for Reborn's peace of mind. In his personal experience, all Skies and Suns always felt hot to the touch from the flame that flickered just beneath their skin. Only Rain and Mist users ever felt noticeably cool under his fingers.

Luce smiled warmly, "I'll leave you two alone then. If you're ever near Valencia, do drop by, you're welcome on Giglio Nero territory," she assured them before turning and slipping out of the room just as readily as she came in.

Shamal shook his head, Reborn hadn't heard a single word, too busy fussing over his Sky. He scoffed around the mouth of his bottle and followed after the _very_ pretty lady. "I don't think he got a single word, miss," he informed the Mafia Don as he closed the door behind him.

She smiled, "Oh I think he was paying more attention than you think," she said mysteriously, a glimmer of something bright in the depths of her eyes.

Shamal hummed doubtfully, "Well, never the less, allow me to escort you, m'lady. Watching him go gooey over a kid is a little unsettling when you've seen him paint a warehouse with blood and viscera."

Blue eyes blinked wide as a dainty hand fluttered to her mouth, "Oh... my... yes, I can see... how it would be a little unusual," she admitted, a little stunned. Shamal nodded, morosely sucking on his bottle of rubbing alcohol, ignoring the look of horror a passing nurse gave him.

"See, people think he's the hard-boiled type of Hitman, pfft, no. On the job, he can be nasty. Ruthless. Violent. If someone asks him to make a statement, it'll be loud, messy, impossible to ignore, and not fit for the eyes of women and children. Off the job? You've met those Mafioso, the old ones, the Gentlemen? Yeah. That's him, but throw in some modern charm and sophistication and brazen flirtation. He is shameless. But he doesn't get close to people. Love 'em and leave 'em. Him making gooey eyes at _anyone_ is creepy," the young assassin complained, knocking back another mouthful, "Eurgh, this stuff tastes like armpit," he complained, before taking another mouthful.

Luce laughed, "Those two will be fine. Though you may have to put up with a little more... ah... Gooey-ness in the future," she admitted with a mirthful giggle.

Shamal sighed, slumping in place, "I was afraid you'd say that."

The woman gave him a look of concern, eyeing the bottle in his hand, "Um, it's my understanding that... rubbing alcohol isn't exactly the... _safest_ of substances to drink..." she trailed off meaningfully, eyeing him with an expression of earnest concern. He tightened his grip on the bottle, unwilling to give it up, pretty Skies giving him large concerned doe eyes be damned.

"It isn't. But I just witnessed the World's Greatest Hitman Harmonize with a dying seventeen year old in my hospital ward. I need it," he declared firmly as he chugged another mouthful.

"It happened _earlier_," Reborn corrected snootily from behind him, Shamal very stubbornly didn't tense or jump, but he may have peed himself a little. "At the bar," he added rubbing his chin before looking at Luce, ignoring Shamal's yelp of '_Just how long have you known this kid_'. "I hope you realise that you're going to be the Godmother of our kids now," he informed the dark haired woman who blinked at him before bursting into a storm of wild giggles as Shamal choked and spluttered – spitting a mouthful of rubbing alcohol against a noticeboard.

"B-but you're both _guys_! HOW DOES THAT EVEN _WORK_?!" he shouted, coughing and flapping his arms at his friend, who merely sniffed and flicked a hand at him.

"World's. Greatest."

"BUT - "

Reborn affixed him with a hard, black stare.

"World's. _Greatest_," he repeated forcefully.

He drained the bottle of rubbing alcohol dry, tossing the bottle over one shoulder, "I need something stronger. Gimme your car keys," he demanded, holding a hand out to the Hitman who casually tossed them to him without argument.

"Be back within two hours. The Helicopter should be here by then," he told the brunet who paused and blinked owlishly at him.

"heli – you know what, I don't care. As long as I'm not flying," he declared before turning to the young woman and taking her hand, bowing low over it to kiss her knuckles, "My lady, it had been a pleasure. Thank you for your help. Now please excuse me while I go and get absolutely rat - "

Eight men jumped on him, flattening him to the ground of the hospital wing corridor with roars of "GET YOUR HANDS OFF HER", "GET AWAY FROM HER", "MY LADY ARE YOU ALRIGHT".

"- _arsed... ow._"

_**000**_

In the hours it took for the Helicopter to get to England, Reborn called up every favour from every Sky and Sun he knew of, even blackmailing a few of the more recalcitrant of his acquaintances in order to get them to the private Hospital of his choice in time for his Sky's arrival. The Sky whose name he was still ignorant of. That would have to be corrected as soon as he was able to be safely awakened. The ugly patch jobs he did on those two curious scars were holding, but he could _feel_ the lingering Sun Flame he had left as a loose 'band-aid' dissolving as the young Sky's flame continued to sizzle at the edges of the wound, slowly eating away at the repairs and leaking away again.

Don Luce of the Giglio Nero would not be able to join them in Italy in time for the Healing, but she pumped half of her flame capacity into the teenager – which was more than she technically should have given how she was pregnant. Her presence in England was for negotiations, approved by Ghost, for a cease-fire with a rival famiglia on neutral ground. Unfortunately she had an allergic reaction to some of the food served in her hotel and ended up needing a check up at the maternity ward just to make sure everything was alright after she had received treatment herself. She didn't say _how_ she knew about Reborn and his Sky needing her help, just smiled and said she was glad she'd made it to them on time before taking her leave, her overprotective famiglia shooting him suspicious glares over their shoulders as she did so.

Shamal had returned in time for the helicopter, with three plastic bags of alcohol which he then proceeded to chug his way through during the flight and the various stop-overs where they refuelled and then carried on.

Everyone was there by the time they landed and wheeled the young Sky out of the helicopter and into his hospital bed. The Vongola, the Cavallone, the Drago, the Seven Storms, even that exotic dancer he had a fling with – her Sun Flame was fairly powerful.

They were all present, looking thoroughly confused until the doors opened and the trolley came in and they _felt_ the outpouring of Sky Flame from the teenager.

Daniela, her son the current Vongola head, Timoteo, his three young children, Enrico, Frederico, Massimo, and his Sun Guardian Brow Nie Jr. Ninth boss of the Cavallone famiglia, Chino, and his Sun, a stunning young woman with golden hair. Anitonio of the Drago famiglia and his Sun Guardian, a young lad with trembling hands. The Seven Storms, who never went anywhere without each other, all in attendance and eyeing the young Sky with fascination and awe. And Juliette who sniffed and swept over, flipping her long curtain of black hair over her shoulder, smelling like faded roses and incense, her golden bracelets jangling as she enfolded him into a tight hug.

"When you said you needed my help, I had not thought it was quite so dire," she declared, her voice a husky timber that he recalled fondly as she drew away and gently reached out to his Sky, not daring to touch, her hand hovering above him with an expression of profound sorrow on her face before she dropped her hand and took a deep breath. "I'm glad you found him. Now. Let us get to work!" she clapped loudly before pointing at Shamal, "Move the bed to the centre of the room!" she commanded.

Shamal spluttered for a moment before doing as he was told and retreating as the dancer immediately began to bark orders. Daniela of the Vongola grinning widely in approval as she joined her 'sister in arms'.

Quick introductions went around and the Seven Storms were banished to stand beside the wall with Shamal, the ones that weren't needed at any rate. The Seven Storms were a unique independent mercenary group. All of them, _all_ of them had a Storm affinity. But they also had affinities with every _other_ flame type as well. Their Sky and their Sun were already being ushered into position by the two bossy women around the bed.

"So... what's going on?" Roberta, the Lightning-Storm, of the SS asked in an undertone, leaning toward him. He tried not to stare but the SS uniforms were _very_ flattering, and she was an attractive woman with rich polished ebony skin and thick curly black hair. The red leather looked mighty fine on her. Mighty fine indeed.

Shamal took a breath, "Reborn Harmonized," he stated flatly, the other SS sucking in surprised breaths at his confession. "What's worse? The kid was dying at the time. So you can imagine how crazy things got."

Understatement.

Roberta winced, "Dying? Fuuuuck. That's rough man. Good thing it didn't come to that."

A Sky's death was tragic. It truly was. Often times, a Guardian did not recover from it. Not well at least. But when the bond was _fresh_, _young_. It could _destroy_ them. Tear them to pieces, shatter them in such a profound way that sometimes there was no coming back from that edge. Because they'd had a taste, only to lose it.

Shamal sat down and cracked open his last can of Guinness. "You may as well park it. The head-wound took twenty minutes to patch. Chest over an hour. We're going to be here for a while," he explained to the five Storm Attributes as light exploded off the group in the centre of the room – a trio of excited childrens' voices (Timoteo's sons were not yet ten years old) exclaiming over how cool this was.

The procedure certainly took a long time.

The children ended up dropping out quickly enough. The Rain-Storm quickly ushering them out of the circle and onto a few mattresses that had been dragged into the room (as well as a number of couches from the relatives room that the Mist-Storm had raided), the three of them going to sleep in short order. What followed was the Drago famiglia's Sun Guardian collapsing and getting hustled into an armchair where he trembled muttering about how weird it felt to deplete his flame (numb and covered with pins and needles).

Pretty soon, only the Vongola and Reborn remained standing as the last of the flames died down.

Daniela wiped her forehead as she dropped her flame. She was not a young woman anymore. She should be allowed to relax and enjoy her retirement, spoil her grandbabies something rotten. But here she was, trying to save the Sky of that skirt-chasing toerag Reborn. He was lucky he was cute or she would have set him on fire instead.

"That should do the trick," she declared, feeling her son go to collapse on the sofa with his sons – picking young Enrico up and sitting down, using his son as a blanket, or himself as a mattress for his son. It was hard to tell. "He'll need several more Sky Flame transfusions over the next few weeks, just until his system can reboot itself. He stopped producing his own flame a while ago so it'll take some time before his system gets back into the swing of it," she explained to the exhausted Hitman who nodded, one hand still knotted in his Sky's thick dark hair.

"And Reborn?" she added, causing him to look at her sharply. She flashed him a sharp grin, "Congratulations on finally Harmonizing. Virgin."

A snort of amusement was the only retort she received as she kicked her grandbabies and her son into action, commanding that they take her home because she was tired and wanted to have a nap and she wasn't doing it in a hospital, who did they think she was?

_**000**_

**And I have to stop here. The wife told me to. XDDD she wants to upload our fics now and its taken me a while to finish this chapter.**

The Drago Famiglia are semi-OC, Lancia's famiglia are never named, however the ring he gives Tsuna has a dragon on it so I figured I would give them a name and the Boss who took him in is a badass. Anitonio. And his Sun is one of the stray kids he took in.

Chino Cavallone is Dino's father. And the pretty Sun Guardian _IS_ his mother, as I see it.

Juliette is an OC of mine, I figured Reborn would have at least one amiable ex-lover.

The Seven Storms are a product of much amusement and discussion of Harmonizing and Flames between myself and my Wife. They belong to the both of us, they're an OC group. Please no borrowing without permission.

And yes, Daniela called Reborn a virgin. But not because he never had sex, but because he never Harmonized. He's kind of a Virgin-Guardian right now. /snicker.

**This is set thirty years before the canon, so answering machines, mobile phones, etc, well, to you youngsters its a little weird. To fogies like Wifey and I, this is like being children once again. XDDD**

The Titanic Pub is a real place, but it isn't in London. I go there every Tuesday night for tabletop roleplay and to drink my troubles away with sweet carbonated diet coke. XDDD

**Go read Reighost's Dusk to Dawn if you haven't already. DO IT. I COMMAND THEE.**


	2. Chapter 2

_I do not own KHR, or Harry Potter._

WARNING: Angst, slash (graphic in places, **no** sex scenes), mature themes, canon-derailment – a little.

_**000**_

**Chapter Two**

_**000**_

He felt like he had gone ten rounds with a Hungarian Horntail, and lost. Horribly. That, or he was sick with something horrid again. The last time he felt this awful had been when he was eight and locked out of the house on Christmas eve and spent the night sleeping in the shed under a waterproof tarp, he had woken up feeling as if he had been shoved in a bag and beaten with a frying pan, everything hurt and it felt like his head had been stuffed with hot cotton wool, his every joint aching as the world spun dizzily around him. The only difference now, as he clawed his way out of sticky dark unconsciousness, was the deep bone chilling exhaustion that dragged at his limbs. He was _tired_. Tired right down to his too cold bones from his too hot skin and the frigid tingling numb places on his chest and forehead. The Curse Scars.

It wasn't just his body that felt off either. There was something wrong with his surroundings as well. Off. Wrong.

All he could hear around him was the soft, thin sound of classical violin drifting distantly through the air from another room judging by the faint muffled quality of it. There was no bustling matron marching up and down the room fussing over complaining patients, her feet tapping a sharp business-like tup-tap-tup-tap on the stone floors. No Ron and Hermione trying to keep their voices down as they argued and quibbled over something inconsequential. No sound of Ginny's light breath next to his head as she napped, waiting for him to awaken, gripping his icy hand in her warm ones. No Professor McGonagall at the Hospital Wing doors threatening members of the Press for trying to sneak in and disturb his rest. The smells were wrong as well. No lemon scented Mrs Skower's All Purpose Magical Mess Remover, no lingering bitter Potions stink. The scent of ink and parchment he associated with Hermione, the faint floral perfume that Ginny used, both were absent from the air around him... He couldn't even smell the faint odour of gravy and cheap deodorant that wafted around Ron.

Even the sheets felt weird, wrong even. The Hospital Wing used plain white linens and heavy wool blankets. They were clean, warm, and comfortable. But this? This was silk, light cotton, he didn't even know the names of the other fabrics he could feel wrapped around him, just that he had never touched anything so soft or silky – Fawkes and baby unicorns exempted. This was luxury fare, and _that_ he was not used to.

He finally managed to peel his eyes open, flinching away from the daylight that burned his corneas. Squinting at the blurry ceiling, he felt the bottom of his stomach dropped out in dismay when an unfamiliar ceiling greeted him in all of its uncracked cream and gold patterned splendour.

Was that a chandelier?

He squinted at it in confusion.

Where the hell was he?!

Alarm and panic gave him the strength to sit up, luxurious white, gold, and orange sheets and blankets slipping away from him to pool at his waist, taking their warmth with him, leaving him to shiver and wrap his arms around himself. He looked around the room in mounting distress and anxious confusion. The whole room was like that. Expensive and luxurious. Looking like some kind of queer mix of Hospital Room and 5 Star Hotel room with the kind of décor that Aunt Petunia would clip out of magazines depicting Buckingham Palace in order to plan for her next attempt at redecorating. All of it in those same colours, cream, gold, and a soft amber orange, all of them with some kind of symbol, either embossed, engraved, or embroidered onto pretty much almost _everything_. He didn't have his glasses though, he couldn't make it out, but it looked like something with wings. Not a snitch. But... almost?

Either way, it looked far too nice for someone like _him_ to be allowed.

The bed wasn't large, it was actually fairly narrow, but it was in the middle of the room against the wall opposite a set of large oak double doors, a window to the right, flanking him was a number of rather clunky white machines, tubes and wires trailing from their white boxes to his elbows and hand. The one with the grey clip attached to his finger showed a thin green line that jumped rhythmically on a screen with a series of constantly changing numbers – in time with his heartbeat he realised. A needle set into the crook of his elbow had a clear tube leading up to a transparent bag with a clear liquid inside. He squinted at it, reading the words '_Saline_' on it, only just. Saline... the hell was that?

It was the least hospital like room he had ever seen. The carpet was the same shade of amber-orange as the rest of the room. The walls were a cream colour with gold trimming, paintings he couldn't see were framed in ornate gold frames on each of the walls. The windows to his right were fairly large with heavy orange and gold trimmed drapes. A round table of white wood and several padded wooden chairs, each of them different colour: scarlet red, pale blue, avada green, purple-violet, dark navy blue, and a bigger, plusher, armchair in that same soft amber orange shade, a golden snitch-like symbol stitched into the head and decorated with pillows.

There was one of the smaller padded wooden chairs next to his bed, it's velvet fabric was a bright canary yellow colour. Sat in it, his feet kicked up onto the bed, polished black shoes catching the light, wearing a black tailored suit, half slouched with his hands folded against his chest, a black fedora with the orange band set over his eyes, was an unfamiliar man in his late twenties/early thirties with slightly curled side-burns.

Harry blinked slowly at the stranger. He was sleeping. Absolutely dead to the world. Small mercies, the Gryffindor decided, shivering violently as he rubbed icy hands up and down his arms. Fighting to keep his teeth from chattering and with _extreme_ reluctance, he pushed aside the wonderfully warm blankets and hissed, flinching violently, shuddering so hard his ribs began to hurt. Why was he so cold? He glanced back at the sleeping man who didn't seem to have woken, his breathing steady and even. He didn't look cold. Harry breathed out hard, like he used to do as a kid in winter, and eyed where his breath would have been in front of him – no misting, so it wasn't the _room_ that was cold, just him. Why the hell was he so cold? Ugh. Forget it.

Grimacing, he kicked off the last of the blankets and swung his legs off the edge of the bed, he moved to stand only to wince and very nearly yelp when the needle in his arm tugged a little as the tube that attached him to the clear bag on the otherside of the bed went taut. Goddamnit. He glanced at the sleeping man, still no reaction. Carefully, with trembling icy fingers, he unpeeled the white surgical tape from the crook of his arm, taking the cotton wool with it and then carefully pulled the needle out of his flesh, grimacing in pain as he tossed it to one side. Pressing cold fingers against the small hole now welling up with blood, he tottered quietly to the window, thankful that the floor was carpet, thick plush carpeting with some kind of heating system under it, instead of flagstones at Hogwarts or the regular gritty linoleum that would have been at a normal hospital. He was completely unaware of the small grey clip that had been attached to his right middle finger falling away, and causing several nurses outside his suite to promptly panic when the heart monitor attached to the unknown Sky that _The_ Hitman had Harmonized with flatlined.

Harry was completely oblivious to this as he pressed his nose against the window and stared out over a completely foreign landscape, blurry and drenched in bright, mid-afternoon summer sunshine. He squinted in disbelief. That was the ocean. A very _Mediterranean_ looking ocean – all crystal blue and turquoise coloured water, surfers in the distance down next to a strip of white and lighter blue that was dotted with bright colours and moving figures. Worry turned his stomach sour as he pressed his hands against the window.

"This isn't England," he murmured, lost for words, and unsure of how he should be feeling about this.

Wasn't he supposed to be dead?

Where was he?

Who had – _that Hitman guy!_

His mouth went dry and he felt a kind of bone deep thrum in his body, like his heart beat against his chest a little too hard. He whipped around to stare at the sleeping figure, a figure he now remembered. That self-same man he met in a pub in a quiet London backstreet, who had flirted with him and blatantly admitted to being a Hitman before dragging him to the hospital when he passed out. And now... now he... He was alive and in a foreign country.

He had been abducted and taken to a foreign country by a Hitman.

Harry turned away, biting his lower lip. He had been alright with the man dragging him to the hospital earlier, he _was_ dying, he figured that the man wouldn't have been able to do anything particularly nefarious to him when he was going to up and die within half an hour. Save perhaps steal his organs and sell them but, was that really such a bad thing? If they saved someone else's life that is? It wasn't like he was going to use them. But now... he was alive when everything, every instinct he possessed, told him that he should be dead, should have closed his eyes and never woken up. He was alive. And he had been kidnapped by a Hitman. He was so certain he was dying. What had happened?

He had to get out of here.

He lowered his hands from the window and stepped back slightly, glancing to the door before deciding against it. Best not to. Who knew if that other guy, the nurse, or some people he knew were guarding the entrance/exit. Hospitals in England didn't really allow you to discharge yourself, and Harry had no idea if hospitals in other countries were the same (well, he did know that American hospitals let you, Uncle Vernon bragged about it once while Aunt Petunia tutted and called them worthless and absolutely uncaring over human life for letting him), he didn't want to risk getting escorted back in and someone waking up the Hitman. Who knew what would happen then? No, he had to go out the _other_ way. Good thing he wasn't afraid of heights. He grabbed the window latch and carefully unlocked it before lifting the window up, flinching back at a sudden blast of hot, sea-salt scented air to his face. The building he was in was a very high one, surrounded by a vast swath of green, various gardens and a long drive-way through what looked like a forest and a small, quaint, brightly painted sea-side town with terracotta roofs. The building was less a modern hospital, and more of a red bricked mansion, complete with decorative concrete moulds.

Decorative concrete moulds that made for very good handholds for climbing.

Glancing over his shoulder briefly to make sure the Hitman was still sleeping, he was, though there was something weird about it now. Harry couldn't put his finger on it.

Oh well. He brushed it off and turned his attention back to the window, "Hands don't fail me now," he muttered, rubbing his trembling icy fingers together. His joints were _aching_ with cold.

Placing his hands carefully on the cool window sill, he boosted himself up.

A pair of arms latched around him, one across his waist, the other over his chest and up to his shoulder, heat pressing firmly against his back. Harry nearly yelled, his voice catching in his throat, wheezing out in alarm as he turned and spotted the familiar face.

The formerly sleeping man looked torn between pleasure and anger, the lines of his face tight even as he smiled at him with bared teeth and almost gentle eyes, "And just where do you think you're going?" he demanded quietly his voice smooth and deep, breath hot and moist against Harry's cheek. His hands and body were burning hot, as if he were running a fever and pressed tightly against Harry's back.

It was very hard not to press back against him. He was _so_ cold.

But instead he gritted his teeth and elbowed the older man on the stomach, he didn't even have the decency to grunt, instead, he merely tightened his grip and pulled Harry away from the window. "You're freezing," he scolded, turning them around and giving Harry a small push towards the bed, releasing him. "Get back in bed before you catch your death of cold. I'll explain everything in a minute," he declared calmly as he turned his back on him and looked out carefully, as if searching for something, before reaching up to pull the window down shut.

Harry stared. Just what... was he doing?

He glanced at the door that was clearly within reach...

And sat back down on the bed.

He already knew the door wasn't an option, just as he knew that there was more to this so called Hitman than he first assumed (no one moves that fast across a room, not even _vampires_. Harry had looked at him a scant three seconds before he tried to get out of that window). And he wanted answers.

The window was closed and locked and the dark haired man eyed him briefly before he went to sit back down on the yellow chair, "When I said get back in bed, I meant under the covers. They're a specialised material designed to keep your body temperature up. You need to stay warm right now," he explained, watching him with sharp black eyes, unmoving and silent until Harry awkwardly sat back properly on the pillows and tugged the blankets over his legs. The man stared at him a moment longer before sighing and getting to his feet, he tugged something from a handsome wooden cabinet to Harry's left and just behind his seat. A split second later Harry's vision was suddenly swimming with orange.

Orange that was then wrapped over his shoulders and tucked around his arms like a shawl.

The man sat back down as if he hadn't just basically tucked him into bed (he _had_ noticed the very swift adjustment of his blankets, thank you very much, you weren't very subtle there, asshole), and stared at him for a moment.

He sighed again, "Answer time I suppose. What do you want to know first?" he asked, leaning back in his seat, one ankle crossed over his knee, fedora, _Harry's_ fedora, tilted to one side allowing only one sharp black eye to be seen, his elbows resting on the arms of his chair while his hands laced over his mouth expectantly. Harry wasn't all that intimidated. After a dragon and a basilisk, humans just didn't really cut it anymore.

"Who the hell are you, where am I, and what do you want, are good starters," Harry managed to get out, voice shaking only slightly as he drew the orange blanket over his shoulders a little closer, beginning to feel a little warmth seeping into his bones.

The dark eyed man stared at him for a moment before nodding, "Very well. My name is Reborn, no it isn't my real one, that name is dead and so is the man connected to it. It is the only name I am known by, and the only one I will answer to. You are currently in the _Sette I Colori Del Cielo_ Hospital in Recco, South-East of Genoa in Northern Italy. It's a specialist Private Hospital that is the only one of its kind in the world, and the only place currently able to keep you alive. And that is what I want. For you to remain alive. Nothing else," he explained firmly, before taking a deep breath, "May I ask a question of my own? What's your name? I can't keep calling you kid all the time."

Harry debated it. He didn't _think_ Reborn was lying. He had pretty much just admitted he wasn't sharing his birth name... But on the other hand, 'Harry Potter' was a pretty famous name and if anyone was actually looking for him with less than pure intentions – best he keep it under wraps until he could get into contact with his friends himself.

"Harry," he finally allowed. Black eyes narrowed a moment, clearly expecting a last name to accompany that, but Harry was hardly going to crumble with just a look. He looked around him briefly as he spoke, "You said this place was keeping me alive. They know what's wrong with me?" he asked warily, returning his attention to the Hitman. Madam Pomfrey hadn't even been able to tell that there _was_ something wrong with him, she just thought that he was tired, magically exhausted if anything. How had Reborn managed to keep him alive, and for that matter, find the one hospital in the world (according to him) that could help him? It sounded rather suspicious if you asked him.

The Hitman shifted a little and uncrossed his legs, leaning forward, his expression uncommonly serious.

"I will be honest. Your condition is the first ever seen. We quite frankly had no idea what to do or how to help you when I first brought you to Shamal," he explained, his expression twisting into one of pain for all of a heartbeat before he nearly wiped it away, taking the fedora from his hair and setting it down on Harry's knee to run a long fingered hand through short spiky black hair. Harry was mildly impressed. His hair was even more wild than his own. "Things are... complicated. You are aware of my Profession, that I am linked with the Underworld and various criminal elements. You're a smart cookie, I'm sure you've figured that much out at least." Harry nodded, trying not to grimace at the 'smart cookie' jab. The man nodded in response to him, a sneer twisting his face for a moment, "There are... laws. Against the revealing of certain information outside of certain circles. Especially within the Mafia Famiglias. Omerta is taken _very_ seriously. The Vow of Silence. However, circumstances being as they are..." he trailed off and scrubbed at his hair once again.

Harry remained silent, hunching down in his blankets. He wanted to tell him to just spit it out already, that he had probably heard, seen, and lived with stranger. But that would open him up to questioning, and much like this Omerta, he was under the Statute of Secrecy and unable to tell him. And if Harry clammed up, then Reborn might do the same in retaliation, and then he would never get his answers.

"Within the upper-reaches of the Mafia, there are individuals who have managed to harness a form of internal energy," Reborn finally managed to explain, causing Harry's eyebrow to shoot up. Internal Energy? Magic? Had the higher-ups of the Muggle Mafia managed to harness a form of magic? "The Seven Flames of Sky are a high-density energy formed by human spirit and willpower, more commonly known as Dying Will Flames. The determination to fight, to live, or the absolute will to fulfil a certain act before death."

Harry stared. That sounded familiar.

That sounded _very_ familiar. Like Accidental Magic familiar – Accidental Magic that even muggles could access, innate soul magic that allowed them to perform superhuman feats when the chips were down and shit was happening. Like lifting a car off their child or running across a battlefield with bullet wounds while holding your intestines inside. Things like that.

"The Seven Flames of Sky are each separated via colour and resonation. Individuals who have learned to activate and use these flames are often... rather more beholden to their instincts when interacting with other individuals who are also Flame Active," Reborn explained delicately, eyes fixed intently on Harry's face. "They each have their own ways of behaving as well, with some even being polarized to their complete opposite."

This was also sounding very familiar. There had been something about it in Divination during Fourth Year. He hadn't paid much attention to it because it had been during the middle of the Yule Ball débâcle and he was stressing over finding a date, figuring out the egg's clue, and wishing he could fight a dragon instead of talk to a girl. If he recalled correctly, it was something about the personality of your Soul and how that affected the relationships you had with the people around you? Your Soul Shade? Harry just remembered having two pop up, a very rare one, and a not so rare one. He had hidden the rare one because... he had just gotten back to being friends with Ron and he didn't want him to get jealous again. Purple. He said he got the purple one while Ron had a red one – though his was also two colours, red and green. Of course, still hating Slytherin, Ron promptly binned his green result and crowed to the whole of Gryffindor Tower about the red one – apparently all his brothers had red too, with the exception of Bill who had pale blue, and the twins who had multiples.

"What does this have to do with me though?" Harry asked warily, he was getting the feeling that this wasn't to do with the purple Soul Shade he had admitted to having – the room _was_ orange. And if he recalled... that was the colour of the rare one that he had hidden.

Reborn took a deep breath.

"The rarest resonation of Flame... is Sky. They are... akin to royalty. To find a lone Sky is to find a Black Opal in a pig-trough. Without a Sky, the other Flames cannot exist, it is the centre piece, the glue, the one that holds them up and allows them to exist. They are... precious beyond compare. Hence why you're still alive. When I took you into the hospital, Shamal, the nurse we were with, managed to identify the cause of your death, as well as the type of Flame you possessed. Those scars on your chest and your forehead were bleeding out with Sky Flame, non-active, otherwise it would have been visible, but in such quantities that your body was going into organ failure trying to keep up with the production."

Harry felt cold all over again. The scars? The _curse_ scars had been killing him?

Dying Will Flame... Soul Shades... The... Flames were draining out of the Scars?

That... Was that how the Avada Kedavra Curse worked? Humans could survive soulless, but apparently not Flameless. Did the curse take both? Or was it just the scars he was left with that had carved deep wounds, deep enough to cause them to pour out like that? Had the Horcrux been acting as a plug all these years? Keeping his Flame inside until Dumbledore arranged to have it destroyed via Harry's sacrifice? And since there was no second Horcrux... He was left with two wounds bleeding out with Flame... Had Dumbledore planned that as well?

"So, because I have this special Flame, you kept me alive? Why?" Harry asked suspiciously, swallowing back his concerns that Dumbledore had arranged a second, far more permanent death for whatever reason, trying to push aside the worry that others had been involved in it the same way that Snape had been involved with the first one.

Reborn shifted, almost guiltily this time. "Remember when I told you that Flame users are more driven by Instinct than other people?" Harry nodded slowly, deciding that he didn't like the direction this was going in. "You were an Unattached Sky. You had no Guardians. That makes us... Itch. It is uncomfortable to see a Sky without protection. When you walked into that bar, you weren't an Active Flame user, but you were pouring out Sky Flames in such quantity that if they were active you would have lit up the entire city block with it," he explained seriously, making Harry wince.

"And that... isn't normal, I take it?" he asked slowly.

Reborn snorted, a mocking smirk curling on his lips, "Just a bit," he snarked, "Especially given how even the strongest of us barely have enough Flame to fill a room this large at a push."

Harry physically wanted to curl into a hole and die, properly this time. Oh _goddamnit_. He groaned in annoyance, drawing his knees up and burying his face in them. He was never going to be normal. _FUCK_. Hearing Reborn's deep chuckle at his reaction did not help his embarrassment, nor curb the burning of his face.

"And you want to use this Flame, or me, for something?" he asked dismally through his knees. Because it always came down that that, didn't it? What he could do for other people.

Reborn's laughter immediately cut off.

"No."

Harry blinked and looked up at him. His voice was sharp, and cold, angry even, that Harry had suggested it. The Hitman was glaring icily at him and Harry drew back, eyeing him warily. He had to remind himself that he was dealing with an unknown here, someone who killed for a living, and had thus far proven to be unpredictable. It hadn't been so much of a concern before, he _was_ dying, what did he care if this guy flipped out and tried to kill him?

Reborn flinched and recoiled, sitting back in his chair and taking a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut.

"My apologies. I didn't... mean to startle you," he managed to say.

"It's okay, I guess," Harry muttered, still not relaxing, or moving.

Reborn huffed, kneading the bridge of his nose, "No it isn't. You haven't even been awake for an hour and I'm fucking this up," he muttered hatefully. He took a deep breath and straightened out, "No. We – I," he trailed off, grimacing for a moment as he tried to think of what to say. "You are a _very_ strong Sky. The strongest I have ever encountered. But I had no idea when we met in that bar. You were just a funny, charming, wet-behind-the-ears pup with his first taste of scotch who turned scarlet at a little harmless flirting." He smirked down at the Gryffindor who promptly turned that same shade of scarlet and scowled at him. Harry really wished the ground would swallow him alive right now. "I let my guard down," Reborn admitted, sounding torn between proud and disgruntled over the fact, watching him carefully.

"And how does this relate to my Flame, or whatever, and why I'm here?"

Reborn chewed over this for a moment, "Skies... They draw people in. Grab hold and don't let go. Give them a home, a place to exist. In return, we protect the Sky. It's called Harmony. That Harmony is what all Flame users seek. Why Skies are so rare and precious. You were dying, and while _you_ may have accepted that, your Flame is the very antithesis of that desire. A dying lone Sky. I wasn't expecting it, I let my guard down. Bam. Harmony. We connected, Harmonized. In layman's terms, it is akin to a Soul Bond."

Harry felt the bottom of his stomach drop in horror.

He had _forced_ a _**Soul Bond**_ onto a complete stranger?!

"I hadn't realised until you were a breath away from dying in that hospital room," the Hitman continued swiftly, having clearly seen the expression of horror that wrote itself across Harry's face. "You were draining Flame so fast we were certain you were going to die. Then Shamal cast that illusion and we saw it distorting around your chest and forehead. I believe he's now developing it as a diagnostic technique to find other instances of Flame bleed-off. We managed to patch the injuries on your chest and forehead for a short time, long enough to get here. My Flame is the Sun, Activation and Healing. I sealed the edges shut but your Flame has been actively eating at the patch-jobs and leaking away. Don Luce of the Giglio Nero Famiglia was able to share her Sky Flame with you, much like a blood transfusion, so we could fly you here to the _Sette I Colori Del Cielo_. I called a number of favours in and we were able to completely heal over the wounds in your chest. However, your system has stopped producing Sky Flame, meaning that you are in a very dangerous position. Without your Flame, your body is weaker, more susceptible to illnesses. Until your system reboots and begins producing its own Flame again, you will have to remain here in these rooms receiving regular Flame boosts from various Skies who have volunteered to help, not only to prevent outside diseases and sicknesses from infecting you, but also because you are still very weak and as a Sky... there are a great deal of individuals who would seek to take advantage of your current... lack of Guardians," he explained very quickly, stumbling sourly a little on the last part as he gestured to the other chairs in the room.

"As a Sky, you need Guardians," he continued. "It's just the way you work. It's actually rather odd that you haven't managed to find any before now. Especially now that you're past the age of puberty, which is when most Flame users become Active," he admitted thoughtfully before gesturing to the yellow chair he was currently lounging on, a highly satisfied smirk curling on his lips as he ran a hand down the yellow fabric, "This is the seat for the Sun Guardian. Typically, a Sky will have Six Guardians, one of each resonation, though there can be more. You're not restricted to seven only."

Harry got the impression from the bland look he gave the other chairs that Reborn wasn't too keen on sharing.

"The large orange one is you. As I said, you're a Sky, you're practically – no, you _are_ Underworld Royalty. The others are for the Guardians. Blue for the Rain, red for Storm, green for Lightning, purple for Cloud, and indigo for Mist. Each have their own personalities and roles within the Family. But none of them can exist without _you_." He leaned forward and dropped a hand on Harry's head, digging his fingers into his hair and rubbing, his expression almost gentle, understanding, "You didn't force anything, Harry. This happened naturally. It _needed_ to happen. You are a very strong Sky, and a very lonely one too. People have _tried_ to force a bond between themselves and I. It has _never_ worked. I have been alone, Unaligned, probably longer than you've been alive."

A very smug expression suddenly melted onto his face as he pulled his hand away from Harry's hair and folded himself back into his seat with boneless grace. "You are the _only_ Sky strong enough to pull _me_ in. Which may explain why you have no other Guardians," he mused, flicking a hand lazily, "No one was good enough."

Harry stared at him at a complete loss for words. "You- you can't," he managed to get out, shaking his head. "You can't be serious. Why aren't you angry? This bond thing – you didn't ask for it, _I_ didn't ask for it! How can you – we're strangers – " He shook his head again, ignoring the amused and indulgent smirk on the Hitman's face as he watched his Sky try to wrap his head around what was _going_ to happen, whether he liked it or not. "Look, I'm grateful you saved me, but people around me have a bad habit of dying. You'll be in danger and surely you have other things you'd rather be doing than hanging around a paranoid, sick teenager. Whatever this Harmony thing is, surely it would be better to just break it – "

Harry wheezed as he suddenly found himself pushed back against the pillows, Reborn looming over him, one hand on his chest, just below his throat, the other framing his head, trapping him as the Hitman glared intensely down on him.

"Do not ever say that again," he bit out as Harry's eyes went round, his mouth snapping shut in surprise. "Whatever threat is lingering around you, it is my _job_ to protect you from it, regardless of what it is. Nothing will get close enough to harm a hair on your head, and I am not so easy to kill as you think. One doesn't become recognised as the Best Hitman in the World, especially amidst Flame users, without being able to _back their mouths up_. Understand?"

Harry nodded jerkily, semi-aware of the dark haired man looming down ever closer as he practically hissed out his explanation, unable to tear his eyes away from coal black irises.

Reborn suddenly tore himself away as if burned, "Good," he declared sharply, sitting himself down and ignoring Harry who remained frozen on the bed as he tried to calm his racing heart. He took a slow breath before he pushed himself back upright, dragging the blankets a little more securely around his shoulders with trembling hands, and watching the Hitman carefully. "No more talk of breaking bonds, if you would. It is upsetting," the Italian requested primly, studiously not looking at Harry in favour of studying one of the paintings beside the door.

Harry remained silent, watching him for a moment, "Alright... But... If you ever change your mind..."

The Hitman went tense, and then snorted, still not looking at him, "That is about as unlikely as Coffee raining from the moon, but I shall bare it in mind if it pleases you."

Harry grimaced, "Is that... part of it too?" he asked warily.

Reborn finally looked at him, "Is what a part of what?" he asked coolly.

Harry gestured, "That. '_If it pleases you_', is that part of Harmony, or simply because I'm a Sky?" he asked warily.

The Hitman hummed, "A little of column A, and a little of column B. Naturally Guardians and other Flame Actives are predisposed to seeing a Sky as our Leader, to always take their opinions, thoughts, and feelings into consideration. But by no means do they control us." He smirked slyly, "Why? Disappointed?" he teased.

Harry grimaced, "No."

"Oh?"

"I don't want brainless followers or minions. It's a bit creepy." He most definitely didn't want anyone bowing and scraping at his feet, obeying his every command, either out of fear or adoration, never arguing back, never questioning him. Such things... reminded him uncomfortably of Voldemort and Dumbledore. Was it possible that they could have been Skies as well?

Reborn hummed happily in approval, eyeing him appreciatively, and Harry turned away awkwardly. He didn't think the Hitman should be so pleased about that. He shouldn't _have_ to be pleased that Harry didn't want him to bend to his every whim. He picked at the orange shawl over his shoulders, feeling uncertain and out of his depth in a way he didn't think he had felt since...

Was that something that other Skies did? Expect absolute obedience from others? Reborn seemed pleased, pleasantly surprised as well. Was it really so unusual for a Guardian to be given free licence by their Sky to do as they wished, disapprove of their actions, question them, or even act against them?

"Is that... normal?" he finally asked, watching the Hitman carefully from the corner of his eye.

"What? Skies being controlling and violent to their Guardians, or closer to being friends than a leader and subordinate?" the Italian asked knowingly, his dark eyes almost mirthful as they studied him closely. Harry wondered if he could read minds. "No I can't, you just have a painfully obvious face," he corrected, grinning as Harry jerked and then glared at him. He leaned back in his seat, arms folding thoughtfully, "I've seen both in action, yes. Neither are very common, to be perfectly honest. It depends on the Sky. Or rather, their Quality and Polarization."

Harry wrinkled his nose, quality? Polarization?

"I haven't explained Polarization, have I?" Reborn noted as he rubbed his chin. "The basic premise is that within every resonation of Flame, there is a polar opposite. While your classic Storm Flame user will be rough, aggressive, hectic, constantly in motion, and overly emotional, very much like a storm, their Flame can also be polarized to the other end of the spectrum. You've heard the saying the '_calm before the Storm_', or the '_eye of the storm_', yes? They're very accurate terms to describe a Polarized Storm, always calm, always steady and unflappable, and highly controlled in of themselves. This can be said of every Flame, even Sky. Classic Cloud Flame users preferring to be loners, while Polarized Clouds crave attention and large social groups. Classic Mist Flame users hiding their motivations and deceiving those around them at all times, while Polarized Mists are entirely blunt and honest to the point of being tactless and rude. As for Skies, you do get the Classic Sky who treats his or her subordinates well, a charismatic and compassionate leader, you also get the Polarized Sky who is violent and ruthless and often rules by fear. A well known example would be King Arthur as a Classic Sky, versus Mordred as a Polarized Sky." Harry swallowed against his dry throat as Reborn explained. It sounded very much like Voldemort was a Polarized Sky and Dumbledore was a Classic Sky. But he didn't like _either_ of them so...

Where did he fall into the grand scheme of this whole Sky and Flame business?

Reborn caught his hand, palms hot against his icy fingers as he gently unwound them from the blanket he had been steadily fraying under his increasingly anxious fiddling.

"Then there is Quality. A low Quality Sky will have one facet to them, perhaps higher the Quality of Sky, the more indepth and complex the Harmony with their Guardians is. The closer it is," the Hitman explained, rubbing a thumb across Harry's chilled knuckles. Harry bit his lip, Voldemort was fairly simple when it came to his followers, they either were in it for the brutality, the fear, or the mistaken belief they would get something out of it. He didn't think any of them, save a handful, had Harmonized with him – if his Flame had ever been active, which Harry kind of doubted. Dumbledore... He didn't seem close to anyone. Not even Snape. Was it because of Grindelwald and his guilt over Ariana? He seemed to use the people around him easily and with only mild pangs of guilt that he assuaged with '_For the Greater Good_' (If Harry ever heard that phrase again, it would be too soon).

"Who are you thinking about, to put such a look on your face?"

Harry tensed and tried to pull his hand away, Reborn didn't let go. The Gryffindor grimaced uncomfortably, biting his lower lip and looking away. The fact that he couldn't _tell_ him about Dumbledore and Voldemort just reminded him about the Statute and how this was _such_ a bad idea. Soul Bonds... they were illegal between humans, even if they were consenting.

There was a knock at the door, and a familiar face poked their head in.

"Well, looks like everything's okay in here," Shamal announced, eyeing them both before fully coming into the room. "They're fine!" he called over his shoulder before closing the door behind him. "Nice to see you awake and aware, kid," he declared as a greeting, grabbing one of the chairs and dragging it over, before dropping himself into it. "Good thing too. The nurses were too scared to come in just in Reborn went postal when your line went flat," he declared lazily with a wry grin.

Harry wrinkled his nose in irritation, "He wouldn't kill the nurses," he defended. There was no _point_in killing the nurses if he died, it wasn't like it would bring him back, and it was hardly their fault if he _did_ die.

Reborn studiously avoided eye contact and Shamal snorted.

"Yeah, he would. You're his Sky, kid. I'm assuming he explained what that means, _right?_" the male nurse asked, his voice hard and sharp as he glared at his so called bestfriend (Harmonizing with Civilians. Damnit Reborn!). Harry nodded hesitantly, trepidation growing on his face as Reborn scoffed and released his hand in order to fold his arms and sprawl arrogantly in his chair. "Well, that means that when you shuffle from the mortal coil, his world falls apart and he goes more than a little coocoo. Why'd you think he'll go all Jack the Ripper on anyone who looks at you cross-eyed?"

Harry felt his breath still for a moment.

'_he'll go all Jack the Ripper on anyone who looks at you cross-eyed_'  
'_when you shuffle from the mortal coil, his world falls apart_'  
'_The higher the Quality of Sky, the more indepth and complex the Harmony with their Guardians is. The closer it is_'  
'_People have __tried__ to force a bond between themselves and I_'  
'_But none of them can exist without __you_'_  
_'_As a Sky, you need Guardians. It's just the way you work_'  
'_Skies... They draw people in. Grab hold and don't let go_'  
'_Individuals who have learned to activate and use these flames are often... rather more beholden to their instincts when interacting with other individuals who are also Flame Active_'  
'_Guardians and other Flame Actives are predisposed to seeing a Sky as our Leader, to always take their opinions, thoughts, and feelings into consideration_'

Flame users lean on their instincts more. Skies draw people in – against their will sometimes. Flame users automatically put a Sky's thoughts and opinions above others. The stronger the Sky, the closer their bond to their Guardian is. A Guardian cannot exist without a Sky.

His breath wooshed out quickly and he found his hands knotting into the blankets around him again, knuckles bleaching white.

He had forced a Soul Bond with Reborn. Reborn who had been free until now, who had people _try_ to force him into bonds before but always managed to avoid it, but because Harry was stronger, he succeeded regardless. And _Reborn had __**no problem with **__**this!**_ His breath started coming out quicker. Just because he was a Sky, Reborn was going to think his opinion was more important than his own?! Earlier, hadn't he – '_If it pleases you_'? That was – Shamal seemed to think that Reborn would have _no_ problem with murdering innocent people _just_ because Harry died – that was – it couldn't – he didn't seem like that at all, he couldn't imagine him – that was something Bellatrix Lestrange would do! It – or like – like Ron when he was under the Amortentia or –

"Calm down!"

This wasn't right. This wasn't right. This wasn't right!

Imperio, Confundus, Amortentia – Sky Flame! It was all the same!

_It was all the same! Just in different degrees! Worse! Sky Flame made them think it was __**okay**__! Sky Flame made them _want_ it!_

"Harry, you have to breathe!"

"Reborn! What did you _tell_ him?!"

"The truth! You think I would _lie_ to him?!"

Harry wheezed, hands were pressed against his back and chest, both Reborn and the nurse, Shamal, were arguing over his head, spitting and snarling at one another. Weren't they friends? Was he already causing -

He gagged, "B-bre-break it," he gasped out.

"What?" Shamal demanded, leaning in closer.

"Br-break the bond. I don't – I don't want to control – I don't – I – I – " he gasped, shuddering violently. _Imperio_ in the War, that was one thing. Even _Crucio_. That was _one_ thing. This, this was different. Soul Bonds. Manipulation like this, control, no, no, _no_! He wanted no part of it! He wouldn't – he wouldn't _violate_ someone like this! "I can't – "

What the hell was happening to him? He couldn't _breathe_. His heart was going too fast and his hands and feet felt numb. He was dizzy and his face felt hot. His chest hurt and he knew he was shaking even harder than before, his ribs and lungs were hurting.

Reborn caught his face in both hands, "Harry, you're having a panic attack, you _have_ to calm down. Listen to me. Take a deep breath. Come on. Take a deep breath and let it out slowly."

His vision was blackening at the edges. He was going to pass out. He sucked in a deep breath and tried to let it out slowly but it still wooshed out too fast, but the ache in his chest lessened a little. He did it again, managing to hold the air in for a little bit before letting it out.

"Good. Deep breaths," Reborn ordered, rubbing circles against his back, gripping his hand and squeezing in time with his breaths (When had that happened?).

Harry felt sick. Physically nauseous and light headed.

His breathing finally returned to normal, but his chest hurt, his stomach ached, his head was throbbing with the beginnings of a monster headache, and he just wanted to go to sleep but...

"Please," he begged, staring up at the brunet nurse, "You have to break this bond thing. It isn't right, I don't want to manipulate anyone or control their behaviour. How do I make it stop? I don't want to hurt anyone!"

Confusion, shock, and fear crossed Shamal's face as he glanced between the young Sky and Reborn, who looked like someone had clipped him about the head with a skillet. "Kid – Harry, you aren't hurting him, at all, or manipulating anyone. What... what is this about? What has that idiot told you?" he demanded, sitting back down and leaning in close to the young Sky.

He twisted the frayed blanket inbetween his fingers (Shamal grimaced a little, Flame receptive blankets were fragile, but they were also hellishly expensive). "That... Flame users lean more on their instincts. That Skies draw people in – against their will sometimes. Flame users automatically put a Sky's thoughts and opinions above others. The stronger the Sky, the closer their bond to their Guardian is. A Guardian cannot exist without a Sky. And that... Reborn never wanted to have a Sky until I made him Bond and he didn't even know it at the time and – " He was breathing too quickly again, he took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut. "You said that... he would go crazy if I died. That... he would hurt other people, people who had nothing to do with it even though he isn't that kind of person. I – I don't want to manipulate him, on purpose or by accident. I don't want to manipulate _anyone_, control or influence their behaviour. Just... How do I get rid of this Flame? How do I seal it again?" he begged, voice cracking with anxiety. He had snapped the Elder Wand. He had left the Cloak to Teddy. He had asked them to destroy the Ring. He didn't _want_ power over people, over Death. He didn't want _power_ at all. He just...

Shamal kneaded at the bridge of his nose, godfucking damnit. Reborn just had to Harmonize with the _ONLY_ Sky that would reject their very life-force if they thought they were harming the people around them (He staunchly ignored the small voice in the back of his head that called Reborn a lucky son of a bitch and the other one that said it was about fucking time that someone actually gave a damn about him because he _did_ deserve it).

One look at the Hitman told Shamal that he was just as stunned and, yeah, he wasn't looking any further into that facial expression, he would give himself nightmares (he did _not_ want to think about Reborn attempting to bang his Sky that way not only left the afore mentioned nightmares but also the return of the WhyBoner and a lot of awkward eyecontact avoiding because _he liked women damnit_).

"Kid, rejecting your Flame can kill you. You're lucky your body can't actually produce any right now or you would have gone into cardiac arrest _already_. Breaking the Harmonization between you two right now would mean that one of you has to go into Discord, that would be Reborn as he's the only one with a Flame. To do that, he has to permanently change his Flame Resonance. That typically only happens with severe mental illness and trauma and there is no going back. It is _hugely_ traumatising and dangerous. There's no cancelling this. And finally, no, Sky Flames do _NOT_ control or manipulate their Guardians. Don't sell them short, they aren't that weak-willed. If they have a Dying Will that means they have a stronger strength of character than ninety-nine percent of humanity already," the brunet explained flatly, ticking off his points, being as blunt as he possibly could. Reborn had explained, but he had apparently tried to be delicate. Unsurprising, this was his first Sky contact when they weren't trying to drown him in their presence, no doubt the kid felt so unbelievably delicate to his senses that he was concerned that breathing too hard near him might cause cracks. Skies were made of sterner stuff than that, he should know, he had dealt with more than a few in this hospital – hence why he had gone to England to finish his training, Skies were stubborn as all get-out once they got something into their heads. Quite often they needed that something physically or verbally _beaten_ out of them. And since if he raised a hand to even flick this kid's ear Reborn would rip his arm off, that left words as his only weapon.

"Look, people treat little girls a certain way, don't they, simply because they're little girls? They treat charismatic people a certain way as well, same with assholes, and the same with doctors. But it also depends on the person. That's the same thing with a Sky Flame. People will often treat you a certain way, simply because you're a Sky, but it depends entirely on them. No manipulation needed. It's an instinct thing and it's less on you, and more on them. And trust me, Reborn's always been like this, he just needs an excuse," he explained flapping a hand dismissively. A little white lie on that front, Reborn tended to be condescending and dismissive to a lot of people, especially his lovers. His Sky would be the _only_ person he ever looked to, save perhaps his own family. But Shamal knew damn well that Reborn had no family left, he had just been a kid, not even six when he met Reborn, a teenager at the time.

Green eyes stared up at him, doubt, hope, and a lot of wariness swimming through them.

"Could you... check," he requested, making Shamal arch an eyebrow, "You said I don't have a Flame right now. I can't produce it. So what is causing the Harmonization? How are we still linked when half of it isn't there? Could you please just check him? Strange things happen around me, I don't – if there's something messing with the link... Could you please just check, make sure he's okay?"

..._Fuuuck... fuck this kid – _Damn.

Shamal nodded, swallowing tightly, "S-sure," he agreed, jerkily getting to his feet and patting the kid on his head, unable to stop himself. "You get some sleep. That panic attack took a lot out of you and I can see you flagging. Rest. _Come on_ Reborn," he hissed grabbing the Hitman by the arm and practically dragging him to his feet before he did something stupid that spooked the Kid into another panic attack.

Together, they managed to leave the room with at least some degree of dignity, softly closing the door behind them and even managing to get through the living room and out into the main hospital corridor before it just became too much.

"Holy shit – _holy __shit_!" Shamal blubbered, half collapsing on the near-by chairs, "You hit the motherfucking _jackpot_, you _bastard_!" he gasped.

Reborn muttered something, sliding slowly down the wall, hiding his no doubt bright red face with his hat.

Fucking Hell... _Fuuuuuck_! Even without his Flame that kid – that – goddamn. That was a fucking Sky. A proper one.

Shamal could only chuckle weakly and suppress the urge to burst back into that room and – and what, he didn't even fucking _know_! He was a mess. Reborn was probably worse. Sky Attraction always hit him hard due to how long he had been unaligned, _and_ because of how powerful he was, but he'd never found a Sky that called to him. Until now. And even _without_ his Flame that kid was resonating _hard_. Shiiiiiiiit... Shamal was _almost_ upset that he hadn't managed Harmony with the kid himself!

"Shamal... I think I'm in trouble," Reborn muttered through his hat.

The nurse could only snort in helpless agreement.

Oh yeah, Reborn was _screwed_. That kid was going to completely _destroy_ his self-restraint. Wear him down to nothing and beyond. And Reborn was just going to have to deal with it because that kid was skittish as all get out and if he made one wrong move, that was it. The kid's mental and physical state was currently _hugely_ vulnerable. Shamal was honestly surprised Reborn even let him in the room, never mind arms reach of his currently very unwell and delicate Sky. Shit, was that a mark of trust, or confidence that Reborn could take him out before he even twitched wrong?

He sighed and rubbed his eyes, "Disaster the first averted. Here's hoping that things are smoother sailing from now on," he declared.

"Panic attacks?" Reborn asked, frowning at him as he shifted his hat to one side (Shamal really wanted to ask where the hell that hat came from, he had never shown an interest in them b- oh yeah, the kid, it was his).

Shamal nodded, "Yeah. To be expected with his Flame this low. In the back of his head, he instinctively knows he can't defend himself, so his body starts to freak out when he's startled. I imagine when he stops being worried that he's forcing you into this that they'll taper off. Your flame is stupidly strong, when he registers that he'll stop worrying so much," he explained with an exhausted sigh. There was a long moment of silence between the two as they mulled over their situation, and the Sky in their care.

"How long do we have until the other Famiglias start looking into this?" Shamal asked warily, plans to cut the nurse and doctor access to the kid's room already running through his head. The fewer individuals who could be ensnared by a Mist user or threatened by many others, the safer the kid would be, and the fewer bodies he was going to have to cart out once Reborn was finished with them.

The Hitman sighed, "Word will already be filtering back through the Famiglias about my Harmonizing. Information on Harry's location and circumstances will take a few more days. We'll start to see the first of the information giants and the more unscrupulous famiglias who were able to buy or threaten the information by tomorrow morning," he declared coolly, his eyes hardening as his whole body posture straightened and tensed. Shamal suppressed a grin. Reborn was good Guardian material, he just preferred Hitman work, at least until he found someone worth being protected.

Looks like this Harry was worth it.

_**000**_

**I had planned to have the first of the Famiglia confrontations this chapter, but then I decided that having both Shamal and Reborn in the grips of 'MOE' was enough for now. **

**This chapter ****feels**** a little fillery, but it is ****very**** important to Harry and Reborn's relationship, how things are going to progress between them and with how both Reighost and I have set up the whole Flames, Harmonization, Guardians and Sky situation. We've tied it into a lot of the current canon stuff, and we've thought of how this works for the Arcobaleno, the VARIA, the Millefiore, and the Vongola. So trust me. We've got this shit covered. XDDDD It will be explained later.**

**More to come in future.**


	3. Chapter 3

_I do not own KHR, or Harry Potter._

WARNING: Angst, slash (graphic in places, **no** sex scenes), mature themes, canon-derailment – a little.

_**000**_

**Chapter Three**

_**000**_

While he had a free moment, Reborn arranged for one of the nurses to pick some things up for him, handing over his credit card details and a long list of demands to be filled, she hurried off in order to fulfil them. The staff here were all professional down to the core. On top of being Flame Active, those cleared to work on the Sky Ward were a curious mix of medical professionals and servants. They would attend to the needs of their patients in every manner possible, from changing their bedding, cleaning the rooms during the brief moments that the occupant was elsewhere either receiving treatment or with their Guardians, and even running errands at the behest of both Sky and Guardians. They did whatever was needed quickly and discreetly because there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that a Guardian would leave their unwell/injured/vulnerable Sky unprotected, so someone had to run errands that the others could not. Reborn was just thankful that he wasn't one to splurge very often and obsessively maintained his Savings, he had more than enough burnable income to afford what he had sent the young woman out for.

Secure in the knowledge she would return soon enough with at least the more easily gathered of his demands, he returned to his Sky's side now that he had settled down from before. He needn't have worried though, the boy was fast asleep once again, it looked like he had just leaned back and immediately drifted off. He wasn't surprised, this morning had been stressful and had more than likely drained him of what little strength he had managed to scrape together since the previous evening when he had received treatment for those horrible scars on his chest.

Reborn scowled as he fussed with Harry's blankets, shifting his Sky into a more comfortable position and making sure he was wrapped up warm, even going so far as to turn on the electric blanket. Those gouges... they weren't natural by any stretch of the imagination. Something had happened to _his_ Sky, had torn into him and his Flame and ripped him open.

His hand lingered on his scarred forehead, thumb running down the thin, old, scar that had been so angry and red when he had first seen it – enough so that he thought it fresh. He wanted to demand, to question, to interrogate, so he could plan, and scheme, and plot a way to make sure it never happened again. But Harry was skittish. It was easy to see that someone had betrayed his trust, likely as not someone Harry had tentatively decided was a Sky from Reborn's explanations. But done so in a way that had damaged him more than just physically.

He threaded his fingers through unruly dark hair, feeling his stomach twist unhappily.

Skies were curious beings when it came to other Skies. They either helped them, adopted them into their care, or saw them as an enemy. They would either help one another, or try to kill one another.

Had Harry looked to this unknown Sky as someone he cared for, but not had that feeling returned? Only... instead of outright pushing him away, the other Sky took advantage of that care only to –

Reborn huffed softly, there was no point in baseless conjecture. He would ask when Harry trusted him, he decided moving away and sitting down.

He knew it would take a while.

He was prepared, and willing, to wait.

He just hoped his Sky was willing to give him that opportunity, instead of trying to slip out of the window once again! He would have been impressed with how quickly he concluded that it was his best escape route had it been _anyone_ else. But as it was _his_ sick and weakened Sky, who very likely wouldn't have been able to keep his grip long enough to safely climb down and would have thus fallen, he was less impressed and more furiously terrified.

He was getting the impression that 'terrified' was an emotion he was going to rapidly become intimately acquainted with now that he was a Guardian. Just _waiting_ for Harry to awaken had torn at him in a way he hadn't felt since he was a rookie Hitman making his first kill and panicking over getting caught. Sat on the hospital bed, Sky bundled up against his chest, obsessively watching his thin, pale face for any sign of consciousness. For hours, he memorised that face, half his attention on the teenager, the other half on his heart-monitor, showing a steady beat that was just a little too slow for comfort, but reassuringly constant. He had been scared that Harry would never wake. He had been _so_ close to dying when they first met. Running on empty, literally his _last_ breath rattling in his lungs. Somehow they had snatched him away from that edge but the question now was how far away had they been able to pull him? Would he ever open his eyes? Shamal warned him that he had passed onto a coma, the longer he spent sleeping, the less likely he was to awaken, that he could slip away in an instant with seemingly no warning, and he needed to be prepared for that. Or worse. That he would awaken, but the damage would be done, his death a little too close, his body stubbornly continuing on but his mind already gone.

He hadn't dared sleep, look away, or leave his side.

Nine hours and twenty three minutes since the end of the surgery, since the Vongola, the Cavallone, the Drago, the Seven Storms, and Juliette had left. Reborn stayed by his Sky's side, not daring to look away, just in case.

The twenty third minute of the ninth hour, Reborn saw him twitch and the heart-monitor spike. His heart had near enough launched itself out of his mouth, lodging firmly in his throat as he watched the young man shift, a faint crease forming between his eyebrows as his eyes flickered rapidly beneath his eyelids. He was _waking up_.

He had practically thrown himself away from his Sky, unwilling to frighten him just in case he had all of his mental faculties, he had to play this cool, he was the Hitman, _the_ Hitman! Don't be creepy, don't be goofy, don't be an idiot! Play it _cool_. He had dropped down into the Sun chair, only to jump back to his feet and immediately rearrange Harry's blankets, tucking him back in, and quickly sat back down. He panicked briefly, not wanting the kid to think he had been obsessively watching him sleep, the British got uncomfortable about that sort of behaviour, they didn't like people paying too much attention to them unless they had invited it themselves. He cast around helplessly for a book or a newspaper without avail. He ended up kicking his feet up onto the bed and yanking his hat down just far enough to hide his face from his Sky, but leave him still able to watch him.

He didn't open his eyes immediately, his fingers twitched and shifted ever so slightly, his feet flexed, and Reborn could see the small crease between his eyebrows become more pronounced as his fingertips skated lightly over the blankets. Then those eyes opened and it wasn't the blank, sightless gaze he had been fearing. His eyes were sharp, cognizant, aware, and suspicious as they flickered around the room, squinting briefly in disbelief at the diamond, pearl, and fire opal chandelier, before landing on him. He was awake, aware, and seemingly suffering no ill effects, though there was no recognition in his gaze as he glanced between Reborn, the door, the window, and the IV-line.

He had wanted to lunge up out of his seat and grab the kid when he got out of the bed, hissing through gritted teeth when he jarred the IV-line, and then _took it __out_! Scarlet beading up under his fingertips as he pressed them against the crook of his arm and got to his feet (such tiny, pale feet, unusually small for a teenage male over the age of fifteen). His voice nearly undid him, sounding so lost and confused as he stared out of the bullet-proof glass at the sundrenched world beyond without finding anything familiar or comforting in sight. Then recognition came. Followed by heartbreaking wariness.

He hadn't been wary, or frightened of him before. He hadn't _cared_ before. But now... even with a Harmony in the back of his head, he looked at Reborn with such distrust. He was actually surprised by how much that stung.

Their conversation was hard, not only because of the content, but also because he was shaking, constantly, looking so small all wrapped up that he very, very dearly wished to climb in with him just to hold him. It would be concerning if he didn't know that he had always been particularly weak to Skies. So many years alone had left him aching, but too proud to ever let himself Harmonize, to let down the walls and bare himself to anyone. So many years of having various Skies try to _force_ those walls down, just for the prestige of having _The_ Hitman as a Guardian had made him stubborn, contrary, so even though his every cell screamed at him to accept, he refused, he held the walls and turned his back. Until this kid came along, and he found himself taking the wall down just to get a look, just to catch him and feel for him, and suddenly there it was. A Sky for himself. And now he had to control his every desire to stay as close to this Sky as he humanly could, stop himself from holding him, burying his face in his hair, touching his skin, tasting it.

Reborn knew he was in trouble the second when the visceral anger and terror flooded him at Harry's declaration that they should break the bond. The second that he realised, while looming over his startled and frightened Sky, that he wanted to kiss him. Kiss him hard and _show_ him, physically, why he wasn't going to let that bond be broken. When he realised how close he was to practically forcing himself onto his Sky, he tore himself away and _stayed_ away until he felt calm enough to even look at him.

That kid had absolutely no idea just what he was doing to him as he begged Shamal to break the bond, the concern, the fear, that he might be taking away Reborn's free-will, pushing him into something he didn't want as if he hadn't been _aching_ for it for over a decade. He could see it in Shamal as well, the urge to just bundle that Sky up and hide him from the world, to keep him safe and happy and spoil him like the treasure he was.

Of course there would be no tests, they would... not exactly lie, but set his fears to rest by simply confirming once again that there was no coercion going on, and that Reborn was fine.

He sighed, getting himself comfortable as he kicked his feet back up onto Harry's bed. There would be no snuggling with him now, he decided, not when his self-control was so tenuous. He would have to be very careful from now on. It was a fairly well known fact that the older and newer a Guardian was, the stronger and more immediate their instincts were, they were so much less likely to doubt them than a younger Guardian who would hold back on attacking a suspected threat just to make sure. They more likely they were to shoot first and ask questions later. They were the more intense Guardians and the most protective and hands-on when it came to their Skies. He could tell quite easily that if he pushed too soon, this Sky would turn away.

A Sky that was far too used to taking care of himself, and a Guardian who was too old to let him do just that.

What a pair they made.

_**000**_

Harry woke up shivering again.

His room was dark and he could see the pale outline of... well he supposed this was his – Sun Guardian? His only Guardian right now though, to be perfectly honest. He was asleep, slumped in that chair, feet back up on the edge of Harry's bed, head lolling to one side on his shoulder, hat half smooshed against the chair and his head, his mouth partially open and breathing deeply. He was definitely asleep.

Rolling his head to the otherside, he could see the curtains drawn, and the world outside dark.

He shivered, puffing softly as he curled into a ball, drawing the blankets closer to his body. Why was he so cold? He – he had felt like the warmth was draining out of him for days, had that been his flame? Was he now so cold because he had none left?

The door cracked open and Harry flinched away from the light, even as Reborn's eyes snapped open and he half rose, hand going for his pocket – _shit! Did he have a gun?!_

The familiar face of Shamal squinted at them, "Oh good, you are awake," he declared as he opened the door fully, causing Harry to pull the blankets over his head in order to protect his eyes, even as the chandelier overhead flicked on.

"Shamal, its four in the morning. The hell are you doing?" his Guardian demanded roughly, voice deeper and sounding like sandpaper was scraped across the back of his throat. Squinting, Harry peered out of his blankets to look at the Hitman, he looked exhausted, and slightly homicidal as he threw himself down into his chair with a grumpy scowl he didn't even try to hide.

Shamal snorted as he closed the door behind him, there wasn't much point, the living room suite had no one else in there but Reborn would be pissed off if his reputation as a smooth hard-boiled type was ruined by someone catching sight of him acting like a pissy teenager. "Because your Sky just woke up and as exhausted as he is, I need to get his personal details and medical history sooner rather than later, that way I'll know what tests to arrange in order to maximise his recovery," the brunet explained clearly as he dragged over a chair (this time he chose the red one, last time had been the green. Reborn was attached to the yellow one, did this mean Shamal didn't have a Flame, or just didn't care?).

Reborn turned to look at him and, well, it looked like his face softened for an instant, a smile of relief threatening to break out, before he quickly hitched his frown back in place and folded his arms. Harry slowly sat up properly, unknowing of the sharp eyes that followed his every movement, the two hitmen watching him like hawks in case he had any difficulties. Reborn immediately swooped down on him once he was settled, Harry had perhaps a split second to realise the other man was _right there_ before he was once again tucked up in the orange blanket and Reborn was sat down, looking as if he hadn't moved an inch.

Shamal took a pen from his breast pocket and crossed his legs, setting the clipboard he had been carrying against it and eyeing Harry expectantly, "Let's start with the basics. Can I get your full name, your date of birth, your father's name, your mother's name, your current place of address, your occupation, and your NHS number, if you know it," he requested. As a British national, it was pretty standard to have a National Health Service number, if Harry knew it then Shamal could simply access his national medical records, if not, it would just take some more time to dig it up via his parents and home address.

Harry swallowed, "Um, my full name is Harry James Potter. I was born on July thirty-first, 1980, in Godric's Hallow, Wales. My mother's name was Lily Potter, maiden name, Evans. My father's name was James Charlus Potter. I... My address is a bit... I don't quite know where it is right now. Legally it should be Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, but I inherited my Godfather's house when he died, so that would be Number 12 Grimmauld Place, London. I've not lived at Number 4 for a year, so I don't... know... which would be..." he trailed off helplessly, looking guilty and a little lost. Shamal had to bite his tongue not to point out that his place of address was a moot point right now, he only needed it to track down his medical records. As of the moment they Harmonized, Harry was going to be living with Reborn at his flat, because there was no way the Ghost was going to give THE Hitman permission to live in his territory and there was even _less_ chance of Reborn allowing his Sky out of his sight.

"Okay, no worries. It's just so we can get hold of your medical records. Care to share your occupation and your NHS number?" Shamal requested as he quickly noted down the information given to him.

"Um, St-student, I guess. I never finished my final year at school. Things got... complicated," he admitted with a grimace.

Reborn leaned forward with a frown, "Complicated how?" he asked slowly and Shamal refrained from wincing. Damn, this kid was not much younger than him, and was not very well taken care of on top of being somewhat uneducated. If there was one thing Reborn hated it was people who didn't apply themselves to their education – Shamal really hoped the kid came up with a good excuse, otherwise he was going to have to suffer through Tutor-Bootcamp as Reborn stuffed as much information into his fluffy little head as he could.

The young Sky shifted uncertainly, "Um... The late Headmaster asked a favour of me, I couldn't really turn him down. Plus... Look, it's _really_ complicated and I can't explain it without checking to see if... I'm allowed," he admitted avoiding eye-contact, "You have your Omerta thing. We... have something else. So I need to check if I'm allowed to tell you or not."

Shamal shot Reborn a glare, "That's fine. We'll handle that later. NHS number?"

Harry shook his head, "I don't think I was ever registered to be honest. I certainly never went to see anyone when I was unwell," he admitted more confidently, apparently more comfortable with being abused than potentially revealing his great secret until he had permission to do so (Reborn was going to be chewing his hat with impatience on that).

The brunet grimaced, whoever the kid's relatives were, they weren't long for this world. "Alright. Onto the nitty gritty then. Any known allergies?" he asked, deciding to put the Fate of the fluffy Sky's family out of his mind.

"No."

"Family History of Heart Disease, diabetes, cancer, degenerative conditions?"

"Not that I know of. It never came up."

"Are you sexually Active?"

The kid's face lit up like a traffic light, "No," he admitted, gaze dropping to his fingers in embarrassment. It took a great concentration of will power not to ruffle his hair and coo at him. Seriously, this kid was seventeen going on eighteen. He was barely eight months younger than he himself. Sky Attraction, that was what it was. Shamal scratched his chin stubble, at a bit of a loss. Never been to a hospital, even though he was _clearly_ an abuse victim, and had been injured before in the past (some of those scars were serious, he would have definitely needed medical attention for the majority of them). So...

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration as he stared down at his clipboard. This had been what he wanted to avoid. Reborn was going to make his job thirty times harder than it needed to be, without a doubt.

"Okay, looks like a full work up then. Allergy tests, reflex tests, MRIs, CAT scans, blood tests, the works," he declared making several notes and very carefully _not_ tensing as Reborn's head snapped around to glare at him. Trying to take blood from the kid was going to be a fucking nightmare, if Shamal even went near him with a needle he was going to be taking his life into his hands. "Reborn, I'll leave the drawing of the blood to you while I go and make some arrangements. Give me a few minutes, I'll be back with everything you need in a second. The sooner we get these tests over and done with, the sooner we can work out an effective drug regime to improve Harry's health and flame recovery," he explained briskly with faux brightness as he got to his feet and made his way to the door, very carefully not running (run and you're dead, run and _he_ would follow) as he stepped out and went to speak to the nurses still on duty.

It wasn't that he was scared of Reborn (he was), he just knew fucking better than to test his patience at times. It was like standing beside a man eating tiger and knowing that it was only said tiger's complete disinterest in eating you that was keeping you safe. The second that disinterest faded, meat was back on the menu, and guess who's closest to the dinner plate?

The trick to dealing with Reborn was to pretend that you weren't afraid of him. Much like a shark, he would smell fear like blood. The difference being, Reborn would allow you to keep your dignity for the most part if he were in a good mood by not calling you out on it. And as much as he did scare Shamal at times, the mosquito wielding Hitman also held him in great respect, enough so that he tried not to let that fear affect his interactions with the Hitman. He controlled himself. But right now, now that he had a _very_ vulnerable, very young, and very clueless Sky... Shamal did _not_ want to be here. He didn't. It was _suicide_ to be here. But. Reborn couldn't handle his fluffy little Sky without help, he just didn't know how to handle being a Guardian, and if he fucked up, then things could go south between him and his Sky. The last thing they needed was for Reborn to become mentally unstable if he, or his Sky, go Discordant.

He sighed as one of the nurses hustled over to him with a trolley and tray of the needed items. They would have to give Harry a catheter for when they finished the tests and started administering the needed drugs. He would have to teach Reborn how to put that in, if he attempted to insert that into Harry himself he was going to get thrown through the bullet-proof windows head first. A lot of tests that were going to be done would need to be administered by Reborn, thinking about it. Some would have to be done _without_ him in the room – that was going to be such a pain, Shamal wanted to cry.

Carting the tray into the room, he wheeled it next to Reborn and stood back, watching the Hitman pick up one of the ten syringes and eye it with a blank expression that bordered on horror. Yes, Reborn, if you won't let the qualified Nurse draw the blood, then _you're_ going to have to stab your Sky with a needle and do it yourself.

He stood back, beside the door, watching as Reborn checked the needles and other equipment on the tray, "We'll need ten blood samples to begin with, so we can run as many tests as possible," Shamal explained carefully, eyes sharp on Reborn as he eyed each of the items as if they had personally wronged him, that sharp, murderous little brain of his turning over the task that now faced him, hurting his Sky, even if it was just a pin-prick, and taking blood from inside of him _out_. "Kid, take the shirt off, we'll need to get at your arms in order to take the blood and your sleeves are tailored at the wrists in order to keep heat in. It'll only be for a bit, try not to shiver too hard while Reborn inserts the needle," Shamal requested as, with great hesitation, the kid began to peel off the protective Flame blankets that were keeping him warm.

For Reborn, it was physically _painful_ to watch his tiny Sky peel off the blankets, sucking in a sharp breath and grimacing as he hunched over uncomfortably. He shivered violently as he quickly began to unbutton his shirt. Like everything in the room, they were made of high-quality material, angora cashmere wool in that same soft creamy amber orange colour and trimmed with pearl coloured piping, buttons made of mother of pearl, and on the left breast pocket was that same winged crown in golden embroidery. Thin fingers, trembling faintly as they flickered over those mother of pearl buttons, pale white skin becoming revealed inch by tantalising inch. He felt his mouth go dry and his eyes widen. He shouldn't be looking at this. This was his Sky, his seventeen year old, unwell, never been Harmonized, _virgin_, Sky. He floundered, eyes flickering around the room desperately so he wouldn't have to look at the slowly revealed thin chest, ribs starkly visible under tightly stretched skin, dark hair trailing up from the waistband of his trousers to his bellybutton, black and fine, a long faded white scar slashing up his chest, between dusky pink nip- wait, _scar?_

His attention focused sharply on the long white slash across his Sky's chest, from his left shoulder down to his right hip and curling around beneath the waistband of his trousers. It was white and faded, about half an inch thick. Above it, between Harry's collar bones was a circular scar, about the size of a fifty pence piece, it was thicker and newer than the long one and looked shiny and raw, like a burn, or a _brand_. Then there was the lightning bolt just over his heart, that horrible scar with its glimmering centre, and the now dark veins that travelled from it that had been scorched by Flame overload. The scar that very nearly killed him. The one he had paid the most attention to, and blinded himself to all the others. Others that were even now still being revealed. His right bicep, an almost perfect through and through with what looked like some kind of poison loaded spear from the look of it, the wound puckered and old with dark purple veins spider-webbing out from it like a lace net. Long, vertical scar down his left forearm (Was that a _suicide_ scar?!), moving from inner elbow to wrist. Thick, and old. Not as old as the stab wound on his other arm and from the angle of the cut, it looked as though it was inflicted by someone else (They were going to die. Slowly).

He swallowed tightly, carefully setting the syringe in his fingers down before he broke it in sheer anger as Harry shivered miserably on the bed, now shirtless and looking very, very, small and vulnerable surrounded by all the discarded protective layers (He refused to acknowledge the small satisfied thrill in the pit of his stomach, or the lust that sang along the edges of his nerves that said "as it should be").

Shamal huffed and threw a chair cushion at the Hitman's head, "Hurry up before he freezes to death!" he called as the pillow was unceremoniously caught without acknowledgement and thrown back – with enough force to have him stumble into the wall behind him with a grunt of dismay. He took the tray and rounded to the other side of the bed where he could get at Harry's right arm – as the left forearm was too scarred for him to draw the blood. The right wasn't _much_ better in that his bicep was scarred as well, meaning the tourniquet he needed to tie was going to be uncomfortable for Harry. Almost as uncomfortable as – as... inserting a needle and... making Harry bleed...

Reborn took a breath even as he gathered what he needed, the rubber tube he needed to tie Harry's upperarm. He gave it an experimental pull and found it only mildly stretchy, it would work quite well for a physical restraint, he noted, especially if one didn't wish to leave bruises or rope-burn. It had just enough give and wouldn't slide against itself in a way that would allow for fraying. The tubing itself would be soft enough that even easily bruised skin like Harry's would escape without damage if they weren't excessively rough with trying to get out, and really, if he was going to be tying his Sky he was going to be doing so many other things to him that he wouldn't _want_ to escape.

He quickly shoved the thought aside before the thrill in the pit of his stomach migrated further south and caused some considerable issues with the present company.

Quickly wrapping it around the scarred bicep, he took several sterilising pads and began to gently wipe away at the crook of Harry's forearm, carefully scanning the skin for veins to be used. Thankfully, due to the long sleeved warm night shirt they were more visible and prominent – even if they were trying to sink back into his skin where it was warmer now. Shamal was right about one thing, the sooner he got this done, the sooner he could get his Sky wrapped up warm again, watching him shiver, feeling the ever so fine trembling under his fingertips, and watching him try, _so_ hard, not to move under his hands and make this more difficult for him was painful. The blood was needed. So...

He took the first syringe and quickly slid it into his Sky's arm, carefully pulling back the plunger and taking the needed volume of liquid. In all of his experience, blood always felt uncomfortably warm to the touch – this was far too cold, too cold and it felt almost dead beneath his fingers, a heavy weight settled into the pit of his stomach but his hands were steady as he collected a second, third, forth, and continued until the last of the syringes were full. Harry was gritting his teeth and taking sharp breaths every now and again as he tensed his whole body in order to prevent his trembling from interfering with Reborn's work.

The second the last syringe was down on the table, Reborn was practically throwing the rubber tube across the room even as his fingertips flashed with acid yellow sparks. Harry gasped in surprise, a full body shudder tearing through his frame as the Sun Flame hit his system, warming him from his ears to the tips of his toes, leaving him sleepy and a little fuzzy around the edges (almost like that time he and the other Gryffindor boys got drunk on some of the twins smuggled in Firewhiskey, if he recalled, he had fallen asleep at the foot of Neville's bed and woke up half hugging Dean's foot), his fingernails and toenails suddenly felt hot and uncomfortable, his head itching like he had a full body case of hives, even as his skin shivered with pins and needles.

Reborn grunted in approval as he gently traced his fingers over Harry's forearm, completely free of bruising and punctures from the repeated blood extraction. He didn't notice Shamal take the blood samples out of the room. He was amused to note that the brief boost of Sun Flame had caused a full-body reaction, causing both Harry's hair and nails to grow, not by much thankfully, but enough to be noticeable as he helped his shivering Sky back into his shirt and blankets.

He went very, _very_, still when said Sky, still shivering, clasped his hand in both of his, curling thin fingers against his skin. They were like ice and it was clear to see that the boy was still freezing, even with the blankets wrapped back around him. He gathered both hands in his own and tried to rub some warmth back into them, but even with the soft sigh of relief the teenager gave, they would not warm up. Harry was practically curling up around his hand, slowly blinking and wavering a little where he sat. Was he Flame Drunk? Reborn gently freed one of his hands, stiffening and freezing immediately at the whine of protest that prompted, and the way Harry scowled at him. Yes. Definitely Flame Drunk. (On so little?) Reborn swallowed hard.

Surely... this once... it would be okay...

He was so very cold.

His resolve to maintain a respectable distance crumbled and forgotten, Reborn carefully nudged Harry over on the hospital bed and crawled in beside him, tucking the slowly blinking teenager against him as he sleepily tried to divine what just happened, even as the Hitman felt him practically press the entire length of his body against him, greedily trying to soak in as much warmth as he could.

It didn't take long before Harry was sleep, bundled in so many blankets one could quite easily make some manner of caterpillar/butterfly joke, his nose buried in Reborn's shoulder, a shiver racking his body every now and again.

Reborn didn't sleep that night, he continued to watch his Sky, even as the sun finally rose some two hours later, and when Shamal poked his nose in through the door to check on them periodically (as the only one of the nurses actually brave enough to venture into his Sky's bedchamber). He cradled his Sky close, the teenager greedily burrowing against him, leeching his body heat. They were left undisturbed for six hours, until ten in the morning, when Shamal stuck his head through for the last time, worry etched into his tired features as he gestured Reborn out of the room. Slithering away from Harry should have been easy, but he woke almost immediately, bleary, clingy, half-conscious, but thankfully pliant and cooperative as Reborn tucked him back in and quickly made his way out in order to listen to Shamal. He didn't want to leave, not when his Sky was so lovely and snuggly right now, but the nurse looked worried, and since he had been running Harry's blood-tests, Reborn wanted to know what put that expression on his face more than getting cuddles right now.

"What is it?" he asked quietly as soon as the door closed behind him.

Shamal rubbed his face, "First of the tests we did. Fuck, Reborn, this changes a _lot_. The kid's immune system – he doesn't _have_ one! No white bloodcells, absolutely none." Reborn felt the blood drain from his face. No white blood cells, no immune system, even the _slightest_ of infections could kill him. "I've already put him on Restricted Access, but this complicates things a lot. It may cause restricted access even for you, at least until we're certain you're sterilised before going in," he explained, sounding pained as he felt Reborn's Flame spike and blister at his words. He knew the Hitman wouldn't be happy with such a decision, but in this instance, Shamal was willing to say 'no' as many times and as forcefully as he had to. If he brought in some kind of germ, or illness, or bacteria, that made Harry sick, _neither_ of them would forgive themselves.

"What happens now?" the Sun Guardian gritted out, shoulders rolling restlessly in his suit, hands clenching and unclenching in distress.

Shamal took a breath, "This room will have to be made into a sterile zone. Clothes, alcohol gels, chemical showers. While Harry goes for his MRIs and x-rays tonight, we'll have his bedroom and the rest of this living room made Clean. You'll have to get everything you need to live here in short order, Reborn, once you're out, getting in again is going to be a pain. We'll make sure its clean and move it in, but this room needs to remain sterile. _Completely_. Or Harry could very well die."

Reborn took a deep breath, the two of them subsiding into uncomfortable silence in the living room that was interrupted by a nurse knocking on the door to the sitting room. She poked her head in, her neat orange uniform scrubs were spotless and around her upperarm was a yellow band denoting her as an Active Sun Flame user.

"Your delivery is here, Mister Reborn, it's waiting for you in the hallway along with Nurse Yale who has your card," she informed them before bowing back out.

Shamal turned to him, "We'll make sure it's cleaned before taking it in, and get the sterilising station up as soon as possible," he declared.

Nodding slowly, Reborn made his way out of the room to where a metal tea-trolley was sat against the opposite wall and the same Nurse he spoke with the precious day was smiling at him wearing casual clothing. On the tray were several boxes, on the bottom shelf were a number of dust-sleeves used for suits, undoubtedly with the clothing that Reborn had requested.

"I gathered everything you asked for, I hope you don't mind, but I added a little something to the list for the young man. My son absolutely adored it, and they're roughly the same age. I can't imagine he's enjoying being cooped up in bed all day with nothing to do," she babbled cheerfully, the lines of her shoulders tense as annoyingly perceptive grey eyes swept over him and she turned to the tray, holding up a colourful box. A Gameboy Colour, depicting a yellow mouse and the words 'Pokemon Yellow' emblazoned on the front.

Reborn paused for all of a moment as he considered this. She was right. His Sky was very young. A teenager. A _civilian_ teenager at that, he couldn't expect overt levels of maturity no matter what was displayed while they were at the pub on first meeting, knowing your life had an expiration date tended to change one's outlook on life. And again if you survived it. When Harry was strong enough to do more than sleep for twenty hours in a day (because at most, he had only been awake for a collective forty five minutes before wearing himself out since he was first wheeled into the building), he would likely get very bored, and if Reborn were _entirely_ honest, he didn't have the faintest idea what civilian teenagers would be interested in, so prolonged conversation would only entertain him for so long.

"You just earned yourself a bonus," he told the woman seriously, watching as her smile became more pronounced and the tense line of her shoulders relaxed. He caught her hand and swiftly pressed a kiss of gratitude onto her knuckles making the woman blush and fluster slightly as Shamal groaned, _loudly_, to one side.

"Would you cut that out? I have to work with these people!" he objected.

By no means were either of them in any way happy about the conversation they'd just had, Reborn's Flame was still spiking and bristling, Shamal was wound up tighter than a spring about to snap, but there was no threat to be obliterated, there was no quick fix or Flame that could make everything easier for all involved. They needed to blow off steam, even if it was flirting with the Nurses and telling one another off for it. It was _something_ to at least distract them from the very real, very potential, probability that _THEY_ were now a threat to the young Sky.

Reborn sniffed dismissively, "Gratitude will be given where it is due," he declared smoothly, giving the flustered Nurse another silky smile.

Shamal scoffed before turning to the young woman, "Nurse Yale, please take everything for sterilisation and inform Nurse De Vitis to get a cleaning station set up in the young Sky's living room. And book a complete room Clean for tonight when he goes in for MRIs and X-rays," he ordered, watching as the woman immediately shifted to attention, the blush slowly fading from her cheeks as those sharp grey eyes narrowed thoughtfully before twitching wide in realisation.

"Of course. Right away," she confirmed before turning back to Reborn and presenting him with the black credit card he had lent her earlier, "Your Card, Mister Reborn."

As soon as it was secured in his hand, she whipped around, took the trolley and carted it down to the Nurses' station where she started issuing commands to her colleagues who immediately hopped to. Given how cloistered and rare a Sky was, Harry was currently their only patient, it wasn't too far to say that they were all rather protective of the youngest Sky they had the misfortune of finding in their care.

"Um, excuse me?" Shamal twitched and turned as someone tapped his shoulder, the girl couldn't have been older then twenty-three, thin enough to snap with one hand, wearing a long pale blue dress that matched her eyes, and clutching a white leather handbag tightly.

"U-um, I'm sorry to bother you, but I was asked to come in and help a sick Sky? Could you give me some directions to his room? It's the one who Harmonized to The Hitman Reborn," she explained, shifting uncertainly. And damn it Shamal didn't want to actually whisk this girl away and wrap her in cotton wool. Why the hell was she wandering around a Mafia controlled hospital on her ow- wait, _Harry_? That must mean she was a Sky if she were here to help him but... Her flame felt very fragile, almost as weak as Harry's. There was no way Reborn would ask such a delicate young woman to come in and donate what little Flame she had to his Sky, never mind the fact that she was wandering around _without_ Guardians. What the hell was going on?

He looked over at Reborn who had gone very still, hat shadowing his face as he kept his back to the young woman and faced the Nurses' station, he couldn't see the Hitman's facial expression, but the fact that his Flame had gone frightfully still was...

"Did Reborn ask you to come?" the Nurse asked slowly, turning back to the young woman who seemingly relaxed, her face brightening up as she smiled sweetly.

"Yes, but I got lost on my way here. The walls all look the same, it's very confus – "

A gunshot tore the air and Shamal flinched back as the woman's head exploded, showering him in blood and gore as the inside of her now blown open skull painted the wall in brain matter from floor to ceiling.

One of the nurses squealed in surprise and the whole ward fell silent as the unknown Sky's body dropped, hitting the ground with a very final thump, the contents of her tightly held white bag falling with her, contents scattering across the linoleum floor.

Capped syringes caught the light, several empty, the others filled with unknown chemicals, the tip of a gun, gleaming with wet polish in the light, and the heavy plastic handle of a combat knife caught under the zip, and a letter with a broken wax seal bearing a very familiar heraldry – the mark of the Estrano Famiglia.

And then the Vindice came hissing out of the shadows, their chains rattling ominously as they dragged threateningly on the floor.

_**000**_

Harry waited until both Reborn and Shamal had closed the door behind them before he sat up properly, wide awake. He was not one of those people who had difficulties waking up in the morning, regardless of the temperature or time, thanks to Aunt Petunia, once he had been awoken, he was awake and immediately. No matter how much he wanted to go back to sleep. However, this was perhaps the first time he had been left alone while conscious enough to do something about it.

He needed his wand, and he needed Hermione.

"Kreacher, please bring me my wand, and some Parchment," he called, and was not disappointed when, with a soft pop, the elderly House Elf appeared holding a length of Holly, his large bulging eyes practically streaming with tears, his nose crusty and dribbling with snot.

"M-Master Harry Potter Sir," he croaked tearfully. "Kreacher has brought Master's wand."

"Thanks Kreacher," Harry said gratefully, sighing in relief as his fingers closed on the familiar warm wood, feeling it flush through his system. Taking the Parchment from the Elf as he tried to marshal his self-control, Harry quickly rummaged a ball-point pen out of the bedside table.

_Hermione, It's Harry (You gave me a bouquet of lilies at my parents grave before we ran into Nagini in disguise). I'm okay I promise, but I need some help. Could you look into Laws on Soul Bonds, Laws regarding Life Debts, and something that Ron and I covered in Divination, Forth Year, called Soul Shades – apparently there's a little more to it than we first covered and it was affected when I was hit with the Killing Curse, which ties into everything else. I'll explain when I have more time. I'm currently in Hospital getting specialist care, don't worry, I'm not well, but I'm okay and they're helping me. This is just the first moment alone I've had since I woke up.  
Harry._

"Could you give this to Hermione as soon as possible?" he asked, handing the parchment over.

"Kreacher will, Master," he croaked, handling the parchment with great care.

"Be careful not to be seen when you come back. This is a muggle hospital," he explained quietly watching as Kreacher's face twisted in revulsion before nodded and popping away.

A loud BANG ripped through the air, startling Harry into jerking his wand, Disarming Charm on his lips.

What the hell was that?

He flung aside his bedsheets, sucking in a sharp breath against the frigid air that hit him like a clenched fist. He scrambled out of the bed and flung open his bedroom door, scanning the posh living room absently before throwing himself at the door opposite the windows, yanking it open.

The sight of blood filled his eyes first as he flung the door open.

Then the dead body, a woman in a pale blue dress, holding a bag filled with medical supplies and a gun, she had no head.

Shamal, white as chalk, blood splattered up his face and chest, brown eyes wide as he stared down the corridor.

Reborn, who had turned immediately upon the door opening and stepped in front of him, looking stony and threatening as he shifted a burning hot arm around Harry's back, moving to hide the body from his line of sight (a little too late).

But it was the final group that had his breath freeze in his already frozen lungs. Hooded, cloaked, gliding down the corridor, rattling filling the air as black mist peeled away from their forms and curled lovingly across the floor. The cold deepened and an odd ringing filled his ears as a bandaged hand lifted and pointed toward them, towards _him_.

Reborn's grip tightened.

Harry lashed his wand through the air, "_EXPETO PATRONUM!_" he roared, the tip of his wand erupting with the familiar form of his father's Animagus form. Prongs shot towards the Dementors, horns lowered.

He twisted, grabbing Shamal's arm and yanking the startled Nurse over, "Inside! Get inside!" he shouted, shoving both older men back into the room and kicking the door shut behind him. "_Colloportus!_" he barked, the door hissing a moment before there was a soft pop.

"What was that?" Reborn demanded, pulling him back away from the door as several voices kicked up on the otherside of the door. Harry shivered and Reborn cursed, stripping out of his jacket and quickly wrapping the black haired teenager up in it before trying to draw him against his chest, trying being the operative word as Harry didn't let him – until Reborn huffed and tucked him firmly under his arm regardless, ignoring his attempts to wriggle free. "What was that?" he repeated firmly.

"What was what?" Harry grit out, trying to push out from under his arm.

"THAT GLOWING STAG THING! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!" Shamal bellowed, wiping his face roughly and waving his arms around.

"Um..." Harry went still and shivered uncertainly, not looking at the brunet.

He didn't have a chance to answer before a shadow swirled into life in mid-air in front of the door, the familiar shape of the cloaked Dementors flickering into sight.

Harry lifted his wand, only to have Reborn's fingers wrap around his hand and hold tight.

"What are you doing?" Harry yelped, trying to pull free.

"As much as your determination to protect me is appreciated, I would be heartbroken if you were dragged off to the Vindicare in the process," the Hitman told him wryly drawing him in closely. Harry stomped on his foot but being barefoot, on top of Reborn having a pain tolerance nigh unheard of in the world, it did nothing.

"**World's Greatest Hitman Reborn,**" the cloaked figure rasped, making Harry tense. He had never heard a Dementor talk.

"Sun _Guardian_ Reborn," the older man corrected sharply, tightening his grip around his Sky.

Harry swallowed nervously, eyeing the cloaked figure, it – _he_ was a lot broader than he had seen any Dementor before, a face covered in bandages, covering every inch of flesh even his hands, a large top hat (really how had he mistaken that for a hood? He needed glasses and _soon_), and long metal chains that dragged on the floor that produced the rattling sound he had mistaken in his alarm for the familiar and dreaded death rattle of a Dementor. Looking at the being now, with Reborn hot as a firebrand at his back, reminding him that the chill he felt was all his own, he wondered how the _hell_ he could have mistaken this being for a Dementor. They only had the faintest of similarities – beyond the creepingly disturbing feeling that tickled along the edges of his senses, the feeling that told him not to trust these beings.

"Vindicare?" he questioned warily, looking between the bandaged figure and the Hitman.

"**We are the keepers of the peace, young Cielo,**" the bandaged figure intoned.

Harry looked up at Reborn in askance, Cielo?

"It means Sky. As you haven't been introduced, it would be rude to refer to you as anything else," the hitman whispered into his ear as Harry's eyes flickered back to the patiently waiting figure.

"I see," he said, but made no effort to give his own name, these guys were setting off his widgy-metre something fierce. Something he hadn't felt in a _long_ time. Not since he was sixteen and... in that cave with Professor Dumbledore and _knowing_ something was going to go wrong even though he was with the Professor. Or perhaps because of that (he had never been forced to bring someone with him on his end of year jaunts).

"**We are the Vindice. The guardians of the Mafia Laws, judge, jury, and executioners. Those who defy the Law are arrested without hesitation and doomed to live out the end of their days under our control within the Vindicare, our prison,**" the Vindice(?) explained further.

"One can negotiate to have a prisoner released, but it is difficult and the price is steep," Reborn added, rubbing an arm up and down Harry's side reassuringly. "To try and fight one of the Vindice is not..." He trailed off, hunting for the right word.

"**Intelligent, young Cielo,**" the cloaked figure answered instead.

Harry went pink, "Ah, y-yes. I'm sorry about that. I mistook you for something-some_one_ else. I-I can't see too well without my glasses," he apologised.

The figure inclined his head ever so slightly in acknowledgement before Harry got the feeling their attention shifted off him and onto the Hitman who was holding him tightly to his side.

"**The Sette I Colori Del Cielo Hospital is neutral ground. For what reason was False Sky Marcella Caito of the Estrano Famiglia executed for, Sun ****Guardian**** Reborn?**" the Vindice demanded, with a sarcastic emphasis on his new, preferred, title.

Reborn bristled, "She was a threat to my Sky, and held no intention of adhering to the Law of the Hospital. Nurse Yale signalled me from across the room, she saw a number of syringes within the female Sky's bag while they were in the ladies room earlier but merely believed her to be a junkie attempting to steal them. It wasn't until that _bitch _attempted to talk her way into _my_ Sky's room that she was _dealt_ with," he snarled, grinding his teeth as he thought back on the contents of that bitch's bag. Syringes of unknown drugs, some empty ones, a gun, a knife – the things she could have done to Harry if he had stupidly fallen for the Sky Attraction she had been trying to induce in him by radiating her Flames like a fucking heat haze around her (as if he would have given her a second glance now that he had Harmonized!). If she had gotten anywhere near Harry...

He shuddered violently, Flame sparking and flaring furiously as he pulled Harry even more tightly against his side, reassuring himself that the young man was there, he was safe, he was at his side and no one, _**NO ONE**_ was going to lay a damn finger on him unless his body was cold and dead on the ground. And even then they were going to have one _hell_ of a fight on their hands first.

"**We require proof beyond ****words****, Sun Guardian,**" the Vindice declared.

"I can help with that," a female voice interrupted, causing everyone to turn, even the Vindice jerked somewhat and drifted to one side, revealing Nurse Yale, still in her street clothes, holding a very familiar white leather bag.

"How did you get in?" Harry spluttered, "I – I sealed the door!"

She smirked mischievously at him before tugging her sleeve up, revealing a red band around her wrist, "I'm the Head of the Storm Nurses on this floor. My flame is the most controlled and powerful within the Hospital. I stripped the doorframe and disintegrated everything that held it shut. We'll replace it when we set up the sterilizing station tonight. But, Master Vindice, I believe I have the evidence you require!" she declared strongly as she set the bag down on one of the coffee tables. "This is the contents of the dead woman's bag. I saw inside of it while we were in the ladies toilets earlier today. She's been asking around the entire hospital for the Sky Wing. As you can see, she has broken the 'No Weapon' rule that is exempted for singular Guardians in regards to the Sky Ward," she reported, taking out both gun and knife from the bag. It was a rule within the Hospital that there was to be no weapons, however, it was a simple fact that no Guardian, especially if they were the _only_ Guardian, of an unwell Sky would allow themselves to be unarmed, not when every instinct they had was screaming at them to protect said Sky. The Sky Ward was the only place within the hospital that a Guardian was allowed to possess weaponry, and even then, only when said Sky did not have a full Harmony.

The Vindice took the gun and the blade from the Nurse, seeming to eye them carefully before practised hands checked the magazine of the gun, it was fully loaded, and a further check proved to have a single round also within the chamber. He set the gun down and gestured for the Nurse to continue.

She withdrew the numerous capped syringes. "We checked these briefly outside alongside one of the standard Rape Kits from downstairs. These chemicals all correspond with known Date Rape drugs, and this one is particularly unpleasant as it is designed to suppress Flames. Something that could have very well proven fatal to the young Sky she was targeting," Nurse Yale explained holding up one of the syringes with a dark look on her face as she set it to one side. "And finally, a letter bearing the Estrano Famiglia seal possessing her orders. We have read it," she added as she handed it to the Vindice member, who – Harry had no idea how – began to read somehow through his bandages while the rest of the room stood with baited breath.

Finally, after what felt like entirely too long, the Vindice returned the letter to the Nurse.

"**We find the breach in protocol justified in this instance,**" he declared, sounding decidedly unhappy with this decision. Then, without further comment, he vanished into a swirl of black darkness, not unlike how Harry had seen Fawkes vanish in a curl of flame when he was younger.

There was a moment of silence before Shamal suddenly let out an explosive sigh, "Goddamn. _You_, Juliet Yale, are my fucking hero and I love you," the Mist User declared as he staggered weakly into one of the armchairs, "I could have sworn he was going to drag you to Vindicare, Reborn."

The Hitman shifted a little but remained silent, the idea that he could have been dragged off into that place, leaving Harry unprotected chilled him through to the bone.

"Well it didn't!" Nurse Yale exclaimed, planting her hands on her hips, "And really, do you think we would have let that stand? You've been away from this Hospital for too long Shamal!" she scolded making the young man tense and flinch back.

"Ah – um – I – I don't – " he spluttered, looking rather like a deer in the headlights as the petite nurse bore down on him.

"If, _IF_, Mister Reborn had been arrested by the Vindice, do you honestly think we, the nurses of the Sky Ward, would have allowed that to stand uncontested? I am _insulted_, Tridant Shamal, that you would think so lowly of us!" she huffed.

Shamal's eyes were wide, "I – I'm sorry?"

She scowled, "So you should be. Now go and get cleaned up, you're tracking blood across the carpets!" she scolded as she turned and began to pack up the dead woman's handbag.

Reborn gave Harry's shivering form a squeeze, "Let's get you back in bed," he murmured, practically picking his Sky up to carry him in. He didn't even protest, merely stumbling along with him and even allowing Reborn to wrap him back up in his blankets and get tucked in. Reborn didn't even try to remove the odd polished stick that he had clutched in his hand – that odd stick he had used like a gun earlier to perform those unknown techniques. Techniques that didn't use Flame.

He didn't ask.

He waited until Harry had fallen back into an exhausted sleep (when was he going to have the energy to stay awake for longer than an hour? Probably not for a long time. Injuries that caused damage to your ability to produce Flame often took years to recover from, hence why the Sky Ward was built more like an apartment than a hospital room), before getting to his feet and slipping outside.

The living room was empty, but when he stepped outside into the hallway, he could see a black bodybag being carted off down the corridor by a pair of Nurses, both in the Sky Ward uniform, but wearing armbands of Sun and Cloud respectively. He looked down toward the Nurses' station and spotted Nurse Yale back in her uniform with her scarlet armband, speaking with another Nurse in a green armband – Nurse De Vitis if he recalled her correctly.

"Nurse Yale," he called as he reached the station, the young woman turning and blushing slightly before smiling uncertainly at him.

"Yes, Mister Reborn, how can I help you?" she asked brightly.

"I wanted to thank you for your quick thinking earlier," he told her, watching as the flush on her cheeks darkened, "Also, I would like to ask about the letter the Estrano woman had. Just what was her purpose in looking for my Sky?" he asked, trying not to let the hard edge of displeasure show in his voice, but judging by the way Nurse De Vitis blanched and quickly made herself scarce, he wasn't successful.

Nurse Yale paled slightly, but she squared her shoulders and took a deep breath, "It was written somewhat in code, but the long and short of it was to first, draw several blood samples for the Estrano Labs, that was what the empty syringes were for, secondly, to use the Date Rape drugs in order to impregnate herself with the young Sky, and finally, incapacitate him with the Flame suppressant and hold him hostage against you for several missions of the Estrano's discretion," the Nurse explained, her voice only shaking a little as she detailed the secondary part of the woman's mission – probably because of the way Reborn's Flame flared into the visible spectrum for all of a heartbeat with sheer rage at the thought of that harpy sexually assaulting his Sky. His Sky, who, with those drugs in his system, wouldn't even be able to move as she crawled on top of him and -

CRACK

Nurse Yale flinched slightly and Reborn took a deep breath, slowly letting it out of his nose before he calmly pried his hand off the now crushed edge of the Nurses' station.

"I will pay for that," he told her lightly.

She nodded fearfully and swallowed, "H-how is he? I understand the poor boy is a civilian, that incident must have been very startling," she said quietly and Reborn felt himself relax somewhat.

"...Sleeping. He seems to have handled it better than I could have anticipated, or even hoped for. I'm not sure he completely understands what just happened though. We'll find out when he next wakes," the Hitman admitted to the concerned young woman who nodded thoughtfully.

"I'll have some more blankets sent in for him. Will you be sleeping in there as well?" she asked as she grabbed a few papers and made some notes.

"Yes."

The young woman nodded, "Alright. It's lunchtime now. I'll have your bed moved in tonight during the room Cleaning. Nurse De Vitis is in the process of arranging the MRI and X-Ray rooms to be sterilised in preparation for the young Sky. I'll see what I can do about moving him from room to room," she muttered, making a few more notes before she twitched in remembrance, "Oh yes, it _IS_ lunchtime! You haven't eaten since you came in!" she exclaimed before setting her clipboard down.

"I'm fine," Reborn attempted to protest before a leather bound _menu_ of all things was pushed into his chest.

Nurse Yale glared at him fiercely, "You haven't eaten in three days. You will order from that menu, you will eat within the sitting room of your Sky's suite, and then you will take a shower, wear your newly cleaned clothing, and then return to your Sky's side until it's time for the first battery of tests," she ordered, her voice getting progressively higher as she continued to speak without breathing. Reborn could only arch an eyebrow as she panted slightly and then blushed upon realising how silly she must have sounded, she cleared her throat and glared at him once again, "Am I understood?" she demanded.

"Crystal," he confirmed, amused.

"Good. Now go do as you're told," she told him, pointing him back towards Harry's room.

"Yes ma'am."

_**000**_

**And I'll call it there for tonight. There was a lot more I wanted to put in, but eh, can't be bothered right now. More information will be revealed in the next chapter. Muahahaha.**

**As always, check out my Wife's companion piece to this: **Dusk to Dawn

**You will not be disappointed.**


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